


Goodnight lovers

by flavialikestodraw, Potix



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Mentions of intravenous drug use, Mentions of miscarriage, Parentlock, Romance, Sherlolly - Freeform, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-02-05 22:21:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 30,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1834264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flavialikestodraw/pseuds/flavialikestodraw, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potix/pseuds/Potix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I want to let you free. Please delete me from your life, I'll do the same - SH". Trigger warning: mention of miscarriage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer, my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.
> 
> Hello there! My dear Flavialikestodraw (whom you sure already know from her fanworks, that you may find in the Sherlolly and Khanolly tags on Tumblr) had a fantastic idea to make a full story, starting from my two drabbles ""It doesn't matter" and ""It doesn't matter -reprise" (that I already posted in my drabbles collection called "Broken ").
> 
> This prologue is simply the union of my two drabbles, with just a few new sentences; the rest of the story is Flavia's own idea (with some occasional incursions from me), so please, feel free to send her tons of lovely PMs telling her your appreciation for this story (because I'm sure you will love it as much as I do).
> 
> So, without further ado...here it is. Enjoy!
> 
> Irene (aka Potix)

_**Prologue** _

 

_**And oh what a feeling** _

_**Inside of me** _

_**It might last for an hour** _

_**Wounds aren't healing** _

_**Inside of me** _

_**Though it feels good now** _

_**I know it's only for now** _

**"It doesn't matter two" -Depeche Mode**

* * *

It didn't happen the first night he spent at her flat. Sherlock Holmes was a dead man, after all, and Molly Hooper was not a necrophiliac, despite the ugly gossip in the morgue.

And it didn't happen the first time he was forced to return to London; a Moriarty's associate had proved himself worthier than the others he had already destroyed, and he needed assistance from the only doctor he could trust at the moment. Mycroft disagreed, but in the end Sherlock Holmes spent a week in Molly's bed, driving her crazy with his silence and the worry about his wounds.

It happened the second time he came back. He didn't leave her the time to ask what was wrong, because his lips were already on hers, his hands untying her ponytail, and he was devouring her, engulfing her breath until they both were panting.

It was frantic, desperate, and unsatisfying (for her). Then she had led him to her bathroom, and prepared a bath for him. When Sherlock entered her bedroom, she was already under the sheets, clinging to them like the last wreck in the ocean after a storm.

He woke her up after a few hours, and that time, he made Molly come twice, before emptying himself in her womb. She didn't ask why, and he never told her that two days before, he had witnessed one of Mycroft's men kill a woman with chestnut hair, and warm brown eyes, and thin lips.

He never revealed to her that for a moment, in the lifeless face of a cruel spy, he had seen his most terrible nightmare.

The next morning, Molly pretended to be asleep, as she felt him leaving a silent kiss on her only memento of his presence beside her during the night was his scent on her sheets, and a love bite under her breast. They both disappeared after a few days.

* * *

_**If we should meet again** _

_**Don't try to solve the puzzle** _

_**Just lay down next to me** _

_**And please don't move a muscle** _

**"It doesn't matter"- Depeche Mode"**

* * *

She didn't realize she was pregnant until the tenth week; her period had always been quite erratic, and she had not had a sexual partner for months...until that night with Sherlock. It had been Meena, who had joked about her frequent nausea and her complaints about the unusual tenderness of her breasts, to make her wonder if it could be another reason that a bug for her symptoms. A quick blood test and a visit to her gynecologist confirmed what she already suspected.

She was pregnant. She was expecting Sherlock Holmes' child, and she could not tell none.

She spent the first five weeks trying to avoid everyone she knew, in the vain hope none would notice: she remembered her mother telling her that after the first five moths, that her figure had not changed much, and she could only pray it would be the same for her. She spent her nights worrying about Sherlock would say, and do, after his return (because she was sure he would be back, it could not be otherwise), and dreaming of a cute girl, with her hair and his eyes, sleeping in her arms.

Until one evening, while she was stitching up poor Mr Saval, the bleeding started. She rushed upstairs to her doctor, and there her gynecologist could only state the obvious: miscarriage. She had a dilation and curettage the next day, and with that she buried all her anguish about Sherlock's reaction, and her fantasies about a child with bright, opal eyes and chestnut hair.

Six months later, Tom arrived in her life, and after a while, the IUD, and the engagement. And then Sherlock came back.

* * *

Thankfully, if he deduced something, he didn't tell her anything. And after all, they were too busy (with the terroristic threat to London, John and Mary's wedding) to be able, or simply to want, to breach the subject. For all Molly knew, Sherlock had probably deleted every particular about their intimate moments together. She wished to be able to do the same: instead, little fragments - a moan, a touch, an intake of his scent - continued to torment her mind, especially when he was alone in the same bedroom that had witnessed a night of sex and comfort.

Tom was already out of her life when the Magnussen case happened: Sherlock's relapse, his manipulation of Janine, made her question (not for the first time, unfortunately), what kind of man she had fallen in love with, and what kind of woman she was for continuing to love him.

And then, another dead man came back.

* * *

When Mycroft's agents let him enter Molly Hooper's flat, Sherlock Holmes knew he had to tell her the truth. That he had murdered a man (a vile, depraved, repugnant man), and that he had no idea how James Moriarty had escaped death to torture all of them again.

But that night, she had to tell him the truth, too: because a well aimed line from Mycroft, while he was about to board the plane("I'm sorry, but this time you are not allowed to say goodbye to your pathologist - we don't want to risk to leave another unfinished business behind, don't we?"), only confirmed what he had already suspected.

When he opened her bedroom, the lights outside enlightened her silhouette under the sheets, her back facing him. In the dark room, a plethora of questions crowded around his mind. For once, he ignored the puzzle; he laid down next to her, his curls on her pillow, his lips just a breath away from her nape. He let his fingers search for hers, and together, they placed their hands upon her abdomen. For the moment, it was enough, for both of them.

**Thanks for reading. Leave a comment, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams.**


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.
> 
> Hello I'm FlaviaLikestoDraw, from this chapter begins the part I wrote. Potix helped me to fix my horrible grammar mistakes. This is the very first time that I wrote a fanfiction, I'don't trust much my writing skills, so please let me know what you think.*Throw the sheet and hides in the corner*

_**Chapter 1** _

_**I am happy** _

_**That I have you** _

_**Even though you're not here now** _

_**I know somewhere** _

_**You are dreaming** _

_**Though it's definitely not of me** _

**"It doesn't matter"- Depeche Mode"**

* * *

**3 months later**

His gaze was slipping over the woman who was sleeping his bed, her right hand on her belly and her other on his empty side. He was on his chair, his back to the window and a cigarette between his fingers.

He was staring again.

A hour or two had already passed, who knows? The time wasn't important, not now.

Thousand thoughts, fragments of memories, had crossed his mind.

She ought not to be there, in his room. She should be in another place, with another man. Not with him. She deserved someone - anyone - better than him. She deserved a family, children, a happy life. Love. Everything that he would never give to her.

Because he was a selfish man, incapable of loving someone. Because he was using her, as he had always done before.

Those last words were in an endless loop in his mind.

Those last words were the main theme of their latest fight. It had been few hours ago: he had repeated and shouted those words to her over and over again, like he was trying to convince himself first, not only her.

He had stood in front of her, his voice cold and hopeless . His eyes were fixing her face, her lips, but it was her who had started the kiss. It wasn't romantic: it was desperate, angry, as if she wanted to take a piece of him. He didn't stop her. He didn't want to stop her.

It was like their first time 3 years ago: it was rash, frenzied, and passionate. The dresses were scattered around his sitting room - there wasn't time to reach the bedroom. He was lying on his back with her on top of him: her nails scratching his chest, his hands grabbing tightly her hips. There wasn't any other kiss after her first: only bites, scratches and bruises. He flipped her on her back, his hands pinned her wrists above her head. Their lips were few inches apart - sharing the same breaths - and then she bit her bottom lip strong enough to taste his blood.

He released her hands and grabbed her hips - he was strong enough to leave bruises - and finally pushed himself in her wild abandon. His right hand slipped between their bodies to caress her clit: he needed for her to find her release before his, he needed to see her face on the verge of ecstasy for the very last time - he wanted...no, he needed to bring that piece of her with him. She came first, he followed after few thrusts, his eyes still fixed on her, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of her face. He slipped out of her with a groan and reached out his hand to move a strand of hair like he had always done before, but she pulled back her head and turned her gaze away from him.

Her eyes were empty, but he read the silent plea in them: "Please let me free...". She couldn't, or simply didn't want to see him anymore. He stared at her for the last time, then he stood up, picked up his clothes and began to wear them again in the cold silence of his sitting room. He heard her go into the bathroom, close the door and start a shower. He could hear her quiet sobbing and he really wanted to follow her, to comfort her, to tell her that everything he had said wasn't real, but he couldn't. There was only one last thing to do: to grant her wish, and let her go.

Because he was a selfish man, incapable of loving someone. Because he was using her, as he had always done before.

He put on his coat and went out of his flat into the cold night.

* * *

Few hours later he was back into his apartment. He pushed the door of his bedroom and he saw her again: she was lying on his bed, her naked body covered by his sheets, her right hand on her belly and her other on his empty side. He sat up in his chair in front of her. He was staring at her, trying to memorize every inch of her.

There was a dark mark on her neck (he didn't remember when he did it to her), scratches and bites on her forearm and her breasts, on her cheeks were still some slight traces of dried tears.

He didn't want to leave...but he needed to.

He stood up and placed a letter on his empty side,few inches away from her face. She shifted into his bed, her hand still holding his pillow tight. There was no kiss this time , he didn't want to wake her. He went out of his flat again in the early morning and didn't returned there for two days.

Molly woke up at the sound of a closed door, she stood up and put the sheets around her then she saw the letter. It was on his pillow and she recognized his elegant writing on it. She opened it with shaking hands, and read it in silence.

**Molly,**

**When you'll wake up, I will already be gone. It has been a mistake, all of this. I'm not a hero, or an angel. I'm a cruel junkie, a dangerous selfish man, Molly. You've always known this.** **..because you can see me, all of me.**

**You love me and I can see that every time you look at me...but I can't love you** **back,**   **because I used you, like every time before.**

**I can't understand your love for me and I don't need to.**

**Sentiment is just a pathetic human error, and I don't need it in my life,** **asI don't need you in my life.**

**You deserve someone better than me. Someone who really loves you. Not me.**

**I want to let you free.**

**Please delete me from your life, I'll do the same.**

**SH**

* * *

As much as she tried, not one tear fell on the letter. She got dressed, and picked up meticulously every single items she had left in his bathroom, in the living room, in his bedroom. She erased every traces of her passage in Sherlock Holmes' flat, and in his life. She climbed down the stairs carefully, trying not to alert Mrs Hudson of her leaving. When she finally reached the door, she opened it, and let the fresh air caress her skin. The letter still burned in her coat's pocket: she took it out, and without reading it again, she tore it up, and let the paper bits dance down, until they reached the pavement. She trod on them when a cab finally stop in front of her.

"If freedom is his last gift, I will accept it. And never give it back".

**Thanks for reading. Leave a review, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams.**


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.
> 
> Author's note: Hi, it's Flavialikestodraw here! I know, it's been a very long time since I've updated this story, and I'm so sorry...but you know, life, work and other weird stuff did not help me to find the time to update this story... Anyway, I hope you will like it and I want to thank the amazing Potix (who is a wonderful writer and an amazing human being) who helped me a lot to write this story and to fix my horrible grammar mistakes.

_**Here, somewhere in the heart of me** _

_**There is still a part of me** _

_**That cares** _

_**And I'll, I'll still take the best you've got** _

_**Even though I'm sure it's not** _

_**The best for me** _

_**[...]** _

_**I'm not looking for an easy ride** _

_**True happiness cannot be tried** _

_**So easily** _

" _ **Goodnight Lovers"-Depeche Mode"**_

* * *

The first months were the most difficult: Molly didn't want to go home after work. Every inch, every corner of her home were full of memories of their few months together. She deleted every traces of him from her home, but it wasn't enough. He was in her head... in her heart. She couldn't delete him and she hated him for this.

She chose to not be moved to another hospital: she craved the routines, just to keep her mind busy. She simply decided to move to another house, in another district much closer to Saint Bart's and to her best friend Meena (she needed her more than ever now). She didn't saw him anymore.

It was autumn again when Adam arrived in her life - the same season when she had met Sherlock 7 years before ( and she couldn't help but think that fate had an awful sense of humour).

Adam was very tall, with fine long hands, short blond hair, a well-groomed beard,a cheerful smile and a contagious laugh. His light green eyes were always disguised by very big glasses who gave to his face a funny look.

He had been her best friend during her university years; in fact, he had been the first person she had met in the campus. He was studying pathology, too and he had helped her a lot during the difficult time of her father's illness, but when they had finished their studies Adam had an offer for a job in the U.S. and Molly chose to remain in London to work at Saint Bart's (she still wondered if she had done a good choice...).

They had promised to keep in touch, but the work, the long distance and the years of separation had not helped their friendship : the only thing she knew about him in all these years of absence was that he was divorced and he had returned to London because he needed to keep the distance from his past life and she chose to not ask anything about who or what he had left behind.

* * *

It all started with a laugh, her laugh (months had passed since she had heard herself laugh). It was a strange sound: so shining and pure. So different.

Adam was able to make her smile and laugh again, after all these months...In that moment she realized he was the right man, and that finally (maybe) could leave Sherlock behind. At least when she was awake, and the whole world could distract herself, because during the night he could still penetrate her dreams.

Adam was right, after all she couldn't delete him. He was an important part of her life and there would be always a part of her that would still love him.

"...And this always happen for the important things of our life, Molly: they will be always there, they're like ghosts, or like that silly tattoo we made in our teens" said Adam with a smirk (which made Molly let out an embarrassed giggle). "The point is, Molly: we can't eliminate them, but we can try to move on. We are two broken people and maybe..."

Molly stopped him. "Adam, don't! It's too early... I mean... we can't..."

"Why? You need to move on, like me. We are good together: you're my best friend and you know all of me, so I really don't understand what is the problem!"

Adam came closer to Molly, but she stepped back avoiding his gaze. "Adam please...It's not that simple, many years have passed and I'm not the same girl you left when you leaved. There are things I did, secrets, that I can't tell you... ". Her hand unconsciously rested on her stomach. "You don't know me and I don't want to ruin our friendship ! So, please..."

"Molly, don't be silly: I know that many years have passed and I know you can't be the same person you were before. I have left a gentle, shy and beautiful girl when I moved to U.S. and then I've found that girl again and she became the most strong, gorgeous, loyal and brave woman I ever meet."

Adam took her hand and tried again. "Please: can we try, at least, to have a date?". He looked down at her with a pleading face. "Pretty please?".

Finally Molly meet his imploring gaze. It was like something was slowly trying to mend together the pieces in her heart. It hurt, but it was inevitable.

"Ok, fine! But you're wrong, you know."

"Why? I said something wrong?"

She came closer to him with a smirk on her face. "Let me see: loyal? yes! Strong? mmhh...maybe... Brave? You don't know how much!". She put her hand on his shoulder and murmured: "But Adam, seriously...Gorgeous?...I think it's time to fix an appointment with your oculist!"

He looked at her straight into her eyes and put his hand on her cheek. His touch was almost foreign for that part of her body...but she knew she would be able to welcome it, with time. "Molly, trust me: you are the most gorgeous woman I have ever met and..."

" Oh, shut up and kiss me!". She said it like a joke, but his expression grew serious.

"As you wish..."

It was a chaste kiss, and it made her realize how much she had missed that kind of intimacy. Maybe, after all, she could be happy with him. Adam was right: she could move on.

"So, miss Molly Hooper: what do you think?". His arms were around her, warm and protective. For once, she felt like she didn't have to fight for love; she could relax, and let things happen.

"Well, Mr. Adam Adkins: I think the lunch break is over, and even if I'd love to remain in this park a little more, I think is time to return to our morgue, before Mike give us for missing!".

" Oh.. ehm... ok, right". Adam broke the embrace, took Molly's hand and kissed it. "Shall we go? "

"Ok!"

They were leaving their bench when he asked "Ah, Molly, before I forget: what happened to that tattoo? Did you delete it?".

"Ehm... I don't really want to talk about that...".

Molly tried to avoid his inquisitive gaze, but her blush gave her away.

"Ahh..I see! You still have it! ...Can I see it? Ouch! ".

"Adam! This is not funny!".

"Ok sorry! Have you any other new tattoo?".

She tried to put her most serious face, but her smiling eyes betrayed her again.

"Adam!I can't believe your gall! Ok, maybe you will see it by yourself.. but only after our third date!".

They broke out into a laughter, and once again she marvelled at the sound of her own laugh. Had it always been like that? So carefree, so joyful, so lively?

"Molls you are incorrigible! May I kiss you again? "

"If you insist..."

"Oh I will...". And then his lips were on hers again, silencing her giggles.

* * *

On the other side of the park trail a shadow was observing their interaction. The dirty hood covered barely his blacks curls and his perceptive eyes. He was watching her, as he always did, to keep her safe. To protect her. It was the very first time that he heard her laugh again, since he had started his silent guard. It seemed his services were not needed anymore.

He turned and left the park without looking back.

**Thanks for reading. Leave a comment, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.s.: I just want to point out that Adam really exists. Well, not really...but his character is inspired by a real pathologist I know, a funny, brilliant old man with a morbid sense of humor. I think that he will be really perfect for Molly...just if Sherlock was not available, obviously!
> 
> Flavia


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.  
> Hi this is Flavialikestodraw, sorry again for the long wait. This chapter would not be born without the help of the wonderful Potix (which I'll be always grateful for her help and her friendship).  
> Just a little warning: in this chapter it will be mentioned the intravenous use of drugs. In case you feel triggered by it, feel free to skip the last section of this chapter, after the last horizontal line.

_**Can you feel a little love?** _  
_**Can you feel a little love?** _

_**Dream on** _  
_**Dream on** _

_**Blame it on your karmic curse** _  
_**Oh, shame upon the universe** _  
_**It knows its lines** _  
_**It's well rehearsed** _

_**It sucked you in, it dragged you down** _  
_**To where there is no hallowed ground** _  
_**Where holiness is never found** _

**"Dream On"-Depeche Mode"**

* * *

They were there, they were always there. Every time he closed his eyes. At first it was just the hint of a little chubby smile ( the ones that the newborns always have); then it appeared the beaming gaze of a very unusual pair of eyes: one light blue (like the sky after the storm), and the other warm brown (like Molly's eyes). Then the small details: a mass of blonde curly hair; pudgy hands, always on the move; and a bright laugh, echoing without rest, like the carol of little bells, breaking the silence of the night. It was clear, pure, innocent.

Sherlock knew that laugh. Because it was like his own, when he was a child. A sound he was sure he had forgotten, buried under years of pretentious denials that he had no heart, and no desire to perpetuate his genetic code, to raise a child. Until that moment, when he asked himself how much he wanted that unknown voice to call him "Dad", again and again.

* * *

Many months had passed from the last time he had seen her, but the dreams - those awful, beautifully strange dreams - had started just the day after that last time, when he had witnessed her kissing another man. A man who could love her as she deserved to be loved; a man who would support her, hold her body against his at night, share her dreams and help her to chase away her nightmares. A man he resented, deeply, because he was succeeding at a task he had failed to accomplish: to give Molly Hooper the hope of the life she needed to enjoy, full of laughter and love, without the constant worry about her self-being that a life by Sherlock Holmes' side would provide.

The dreams were not always the same. There were times when the blurry snippets about the infant disappeared, and Molly filled his mind again.

In his imagination she was lying in bed with him, talking about everything and nothing. With her head on his chest, and his hands caressing her hair, he could almost feel her soft breath whispering in his ear silly terms of endearment, that would make him turn to her, to kiss away that secret smile that appeared on her small lips every time she tried to poke fun at him. Her hair, so soft, would fall on his face, while she let him take control of the kiss; her hands would be pressed against his chest, like she was controlling his heartbeats. There wasn't an inch of his body not reacting at his presence. Every cell, every atom in the room, everything was responding to her mere existence

It was like a stab in his heart (the same who said he did not have). Every time he closed his eyes, worn-out after days of wakefulness, overstuffed by too simple cases and endless sessions in his Mind Palace, they came back. Every. Single. Night. It was a torture, the sickest someone had subjected him too; Moriarty would have been glad, because finally someone had started to burn the heart out of him.

He had tried to deleted them, infinite times, but he simply couldn't. She was in every corner of his mind, in his memory and in every inch of his heart. And the baby...How could he suppress someone who died before his own birth?

She had, they to had to disappear. And he knew only one method, to make the pain go away. It had always worked, and he was sure it would do it again.

He only needed a big, difficult case, far away; "to keep his mind busy", he would tell John, Mary, Mrs Hudson. Something to keep him away from London, from his memories and his visions.  
He chose one from the many that Mycroft had continued to send him and he had started to was one about a mysterious disappearance of the entire population of a village in the north of Mexico. It was perfect: the level of complexity, the location...He simply sent a message to his brother, and waited for the car to bring him to the airport.

**One month later**

"Mr Holmes, would you follow me, please?". The security officer's tone was polite, but firm. Sherlock followed him without a word, knowing exactly who was waiting for him behind the closed door of the office.

"Brother dear...your stay near the Northern Tropic seemed to have spoiled your complexion. I reckon you are informed about how sun exposure relates to skin cancer". Mycroft's allowed himself a sarcastic smile.

Sherlock sat down, regretting the lack of his famous coat. Who knew that even in Mexico he would find someone so fond of his trademark Belstaff to steal it from his hotel room. "And obviously you are aware of the Los Alamos National Labs' research, about the possible health effects of the millimeter wave scanner. I know it's you who asked the security to use it on me more than one time."

"I only wanted to exclude any false positive". The older brother got to his feet, ignoring Sherlock's glare.

"You mean, your agents, the ones that you sent to keep a close watch on me, didn't report to you that I'm absolutely clean? Or was having me followed, inspected, and tested in Mexico, not enough?".

Mycroft didn't deem his brother's questions worthy of a response. He simply approached the door, and without even turning, he said "Outside Anthea has one of your coats. I'm sure the Watsons, Mrs Hudson and DI Lestrade would be thrilled to know that you're back. They all seemed to be rather worried when you disappeared without let them knowing where you were going".

Sherlock followed him outside, and as he had said, Anthea was there, his coat ready for him. As he strode down the corridor, Mycroft's voice reached him again.

"What I said to you that Christmas... it's still true, Sherlock. Your loss would break my heart."

Sherlock didn't stop; he continued to walk, until finally he was out the airport. London's grey sky and the misty rain were his welcome. He raised his hand, and as always, a cab stopped by his side. He could barely contain his excitement, when he barked out his destination. "221 Baker Street".

* * *

When he arrived, Mrs Hudson was thankfully outside. He climbed the stairs two steps at a time, his coat already in his arms, ready to be thrown on the sofa. His flat was not as dusty as he expected: obviously his landlady had decided to take advantage of his absence and clean everywhere. He spotted a parcel on the coffee table, and proceeded to rip up the paper that covered his old coat, the one that he had ordered to be stolen from him during his stay near Tampico. He tore out theseams at the bottom of the coat, and the precious little pack fell down. He ran to the kitchen to take a spoon, and his lighter; a quick visit upstairs to retrieve John's old medicine chest, and he was ready.

The heroin, the blessed heroin. It was just there, in the top of the spoon. The only thing that could stave off the dreams, and make him forget his own body. He only needed a little taste then ohh... the perfection of chemistry would make its blessed effect.

At first there would be like a violent orgasm, which would be travelling through his body like an electric shock. Then theheroin would be insinuating in his mind, to take all his thoughts (which were always running at supersonic speed) away. Everything would be slowing down, and finally (it happened all the times, without fail) everything would return to have its own logic.

He would no longer feel his body: there would be only him and his mind, like a huge library where everything would have its own logic and its own sense.

And then the peace, the blessed white, bright peace... no thoughts. No dreams. Nothing, and nobody would hurt him. Not anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, this is Potix speaking. I would like to thank everyone who is reading, commenting and favouriting this story. You are all very kind, and I'm truly sorry if I haven't answered your comments lately, but life had been a bit hectic. Once again, thanks for reading and for your support.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, this is Flavia! This chapter was one the most painful I've ever written, for many reasons that I don't want to explain here, this is why I thank the wonderful Irene for holding my hand and helping me to clear up the mess. And to ones worried about Sherlock and Molly's future, don't worry: I firmly believe in happy endings...at least in the fictional world!

_**Dear darkness** _

_**Dear darkness** _

_**Won't you cover, cover** _

_**Me again?** _

_**Dear darkness** _

_**Dear** _

_**I've been your friend** _

_**For many years** _

_**Won't you do this for me?** _

_**Dearest darkness** _

_**And cover me from the sun** _

_**And the words tightening** _

_**The words are tightening** _

_**Around my throat** _

**"Dear Darkness" - PJ Harvey**

* * *

It was darkness, but not a scary, cold darkness, like the one that usually covered her nightmares. This one was different: it was warm, comfortable and peaceful. It was like being covered by a warm blanket in a rainy day.

There wasn't silence in that darkness: she could heard a lullaby that couldn't recognize. It was a beautiful melody, sang by a deep voice, that seemed to surround her and be within her at the same time. The welcoming darkness slowly opened, so that she could see a room.

She recognized that room, she had been there many and many times: the tall windows opened on the street, the black and white wallpaper, the fireplace with the skull on the mantelpiece, and the comfy leather couch. There was a figure in the middle of that room, a tall man with curly dark hair, who was singing that lullaby to the baby who was asleep in his arms.

"...Sherlock?". The name escaped from her throat before she could stop herself, and the man in the room turned to her, smiling.

Molly tried to get close, to touch his face, but the darkness covered her again. Suddenly she was on that roof with him, that day where everything had begun. But this time there was no Moriarty with him. There were only she and he on that roof, his face as cruel and cold as the last time she had seen him. Then those words, those cruel words shouted at her, again and again. Molly covered her ears, she couldn't stop him. The sky started to get darker and then that scene, the one she had dreamed endless times, repeated again: Sherlock turned, his back to her, raised his arms and fell...but this time there was no one to save him.

"...Sherlock!".

* * *

She was awakened by a hug and sweet words whispered in her ears. "Molly, it's just a dream...It's over, wake up. I'm here..".

Adam kissed her forehead and her hands slipped on his back, hugging him tightly. Her face was pressed on his shoulder and his hands were caressing her hair, but she couldn't stop crying. "Adam I'm so sorry...I'm sorry...".

He took her face in his hands and wiped away her tears with his thumbs.

"Molls, don't worry. It's not your fault, it was just a dream. I'm here... Look at me, I'm not going anywhere, 'right?".

"...Alright...". Slowly she smiled and he kissed her on the corner of her lips."Thank you Adam...".

He smiled back at her. "For what?".

"For being here. For being yourself".

He took her face and kissed her again, this time full on her lips."You're welcome, Molls...I mean it...". He wiggled his eyebrows in a playful way, and blew a very slobbery raspberry on her cheek.

"...Oh you silly man!".

She couldn't stop giggling and he stopped her with a long kiss. She positioned herself on her back and he slowly brushed a strand of hair from her face and looked at her straight in the eye. "I love you, Molly...".

* * *

The air was suffocating: it had been days since the last time someone had opened the windows, or at least the curtains to let the light enter the room. He could barely see anything in the darkness. Then the silence: no sound had come out from that room, for days. There were just the patter of rain on the windows, and the regular breath of someone who was lying in the middle of the room.

The time was slipping on him: he could barely remember when it had been the last time he had eaten something or when he had been able to stay on his feet.

His mouth was arid and sticky, the skin dry and tight all over the body, as if it had been the last remaining barrier between the air and his bones. He started to felt the pain in his arms and his feet, which were covered in bruises and holes.

He could felt his body again...The pain, again...he didn't want to, not anymore. It was time to prepare another dose. He lifted his hand to take the dose with the syringe, the blackened spoon and the lighter (this time he could do without the tourniquet), and he slowly sat down to inject the dose on his big toe.

He started to hear the footsteps on the staircase and some voices outside. He could recognize Mrs Hudson, John and Mary's hushed tones, but he didn't care. He injected himself the dose and let the welcoming blackness cover him again. His body fell on the floor and the last sound he heard was from John, who began to shout on the other side of his locked door.

* * *

John was worried: no sound was coming from the apartment and Sherlock must have changed the locks because his old key didn't work. Suddenly he heard a muffled sound, like a falling body. John turned to Mary who had the same concerned look in her eyes : she had heard the same noise.

Mrs. Hudson was holding tight her hand on Lestrade's arm. "John?! What is that noise?".

John started to pound his fists against the door frantically."Sherlock, open up the door! I'm not joking, you git!".

Lestrade shared a look with him. "Mary, go downstairs, please".

"Why? Because you two want to put down this door without us, poor women as witnesses? Nonsense, just let me find my tools...". She opened her bag and took a little purse out, then she started to pick the locks.

As soon as they opened the door the awful smell hit them; then they noticed the almost complete darkness. The room in front of them was immersed in it, just a thin strip of light coming from the thick curtains could let them see that desolation.

There was garbage everywhere, old boxes of take-away and piles and piles of newspapers, books, photos scattered throughout the room...and in the middle there was a man lying on the carpet.

"Oh my God! Sherlock!". Mrs Hudson and Mary ran into the middle of the room to try to revive him, and lifted him off the . Hudson caressed his dirty locks and his bruised face with maternal tenderness. "Oh my poor boy, what have you done?".

Mary lifted him under the arms without effort ( he had become as light as a child) while Mrs Hudson tried to lift him by the ankles.

Sherlock's body, sprawled on the floor...His chest flat, umoving...John remained frozen at the threshold, his breath coming out hastened. The sight of his best friend, once again lying on the floor, made his mind go back to the images that had plagued his nights for months. One more time, he felt helpless, useless, impotent.

Mary's urgent tone called him back to reality. "John, I need you! He needs you!".

In a moment, the despair disappeared. The anguished friend departed, to be replaced by the former army doctor. As Sherlock had said at his wedding, he was John Watson, the one who saved lives. And there wasn't a life that he wanted to save most than Sherlock's.

Mary turned to Mrs Hudson "Mrs Hudson, I need your help: can you please get some clean clothes for Sherlock?".  
"O-of course, my dear".

"Thank you Mrs Hudson. John, help me to put him in the bathtub".

In two long strides, Lestrade, who had ben behind John all the time, reached the other side of the room. He opened the curtains, and then the windows, letting the freshness ease a bit the stagnant atmosphere.

John and Mary reached the bathroom and quickly deposited him in the tub before starting to undress him. The doctor opened the water, while his wife began to clean him and Sherlock slowly began to open his eyes.

John pulled his gaze away from him and started to get up."I- I'm sorry Mary, I can't ...I can't see him in this state ...he is not himself, the Sherlock I know...".

Mary caressed his face and smiled at him. "Don't worry darling, I can manage on my own. Go to the living room and call Greg, I will need some help to get him off the tub...".

John closed his eyes, her touch was always a relief for him. "Thank you Mary...I-".

She reached up and kissed him on the forehead. "I know ... and I know what it means for you to assist to all this…".

John sighed, then he stood up and walked toward the living room, sitting down on the old couch now flooded with paper and newspaper. It was almost as if Sherlock wanted to hide it from their view.

Mrs Hudson was still in the bedroom, looking for clean clothes; Lestrade already in the bathroom, helping Mary. There, in the mess that once was their shared living room, John Watson asked himself how could they all have been so blind. That was not a ruse, like the one for the Magnussen case; it was real. Greg had told him, although not extensively, how he had met Sherlock just before he had entered rehab; how he had blackmailed him into being treated, with the promise that he would have consulted him, once he was clean. The DI was the only one (aside from Sherlock's family) who had already seen Sherlock on the verge of overdose; yet not even he had been able to detect the signs that the consulting detective, their friends, was using drugs again. They had been all so busy with their lives, to pay attention to the his distress. And after all, Sherlock Holmes was famous for being able to deceive everyone, even the only people who loved him, for his own advantage.

John was immersed in his thoughts when Mrs Hudson called him back to reality.

"John.. John? Sherlock woke up. He is in the hallway with Greg and Mary...I think they need your help, can you...?".

"Ah...Ok...Of course Mrs Hudson, of course". He stood up from the couch and marched down the hallway, his hands were locked in painful fists.

"Mary don't... Leave me! I'm not a child! I-I can do it by myself…".

Sherlock pushed away Mary and tried to stand up, his entire body was aching and trembling from the effort.

"Sherlock, enough! Let me help you...".

"I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP!".

Lestrade pushed him against the wall, not caring if he were hurting him.

"Ok you stupid boy, that's enough! If you don't stop right now I swear...".

Sherlock began to laugh maliciously. "What, Mr. DI? "I swear I'll spank you?". "Or I'll punch you?".

Lestrade took Sherlock abruptly by the shoulders, he tried with all his effort to not punch him in his face. "Don't provoke me or I swear I'll punch you..".

Mary put her hand soothingly on Greg's shoulder, she could not see Sherlock in this state, it was too painful."Greg, Stop it please. Leave him alone".

"See Greg? Leave. Me. Alone!".

Greg left Sherlock and moved away from him. Sherlock managed to stay on his feet for a few seconds and then ruined on the floor, still laughing painstakingly.

In that moment John reached the hallway. Sherlock looked up and stared at his former flatmate with mirth in his eyes.

"John, Jooooohn! You are here! "

Sherlock tried again to put himself on his feet. The scene was so pathetic and John was tired of him, of himself... how could he have let this happen?

John marched to Sherlock and abruptly lifted him up and punched him on the face, making Sherlock lose his balance and collapse once again.

Mrs Hudson decided that it was time to intervene. She stepped between the two men, trying to support Sherlock's frame with her body. She couldn't imagine that Sherlock's wrath would be directed to her. Her tenant pushed her away as soon as she approached him, and she fell to the floor.

That time, only Lestrade and Mary stepping behind John to hold him back saved Sherlock from another punch. Once she was sure that Greg was able to restrain her husband alone, Mary ran to Mrs Hudson, who was still lying on the floor, weeping silently. She helped the old woman to get up, and made her sit down. Mrs Hudson accepted with a silent nod the glass of water that the nurse offered her promptly, and took a few sips.

John looked up at Sherlock, his eyes were full of a cold rage.

"It's enough Sherlock, I want you out of this flat".

"How? This is MY HOUSE!". Sherlock spat back, ignoring the blood on his face.

A whisper came from Mrs Hudson "No, this is MY house". She approached Sherlock again, assessing his sick complexion, the bruises and the swelling on his cheekbones; looking into his eyes, the beautiful eyes of the man she considered a son, she said: "I want you out of my flat. I'm giving you ten minutes to dress yourself, and take whatever you need. I will contact your brother, so he will take care of the rest of your possessions. Goodbye, Mr. Holmes". She turned, and without another word she left the flat.

The room was filled with an angry silence, everyone was staring at Sherlock. He tried to said something but John stopped him again.

"Don't, I don't want to hear anything from you, no pathetic excuse...Just leave...Leave us alone, please".

Sherlock turned slowly and went into the living room, there was a Moleskine on the side table ( it was the only thing of the room who wasn't covered with dirt and paper), he took it and left the room without ever turning back.

* * *

Half an hour had passed since the departure of Sherlock, when finally Mycroft came into the flat. Lestrade was sitting on the couch and when he heard him stepping into the room, he lifted the gaze on him, his voice full of rage and exhaustion.

"How could you let all this happen? You were the one who had to protect him!".

The DI could almost see the older man's cold face cracking with concern about his brother; almost, because in a blink it was gone, and the impassible mask was back."Where is he?". Mycroft asked, his tone unperturbed.

The answer came from John, who was sitting on his old armchair across the room. It was barely a whisper. "He left the flat, and maybe even our life, Mycroft...We were too blind, too busy with our life and our family to see...To help him...".

He turned to him, there was a syringe in his open hand. "And it has been all our fault...our fault...".

* * *

The street wasn't silent, he could heard the cacophony of noises coming from the residents and the tourists on the other side of the street, but he knew that at least none had seen him. He was invisible to anyone. He was just another homeless man in a dirty track suit for them, he could be in any place he wanted to be and nobody would recognize him. There was no Sherlock Holmes, not anymore.

He sat down in a dark corner of an alley, his back resting on a damp wall, but he didn't care.

He took out the Moleskine from his jacket, it was the only thing that Molly had left in his flat. The first pages were full of notes, poems and thoughts written by her, about him, her dreams, and that little ghost who was still haunting their lives (and his dreams...his heart).

He opened the diary on a blank page, took a pen from his pocket, and began to write.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, this is Irene speaking. Thanks once again for all your support, it really means a lot for both of us. Feel free to leave a comment, and let us know your opinions! Thanks again, really!
> 
> Irene


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even if this chapter is filled with angst (like the others...), I swear there will be an happy ending (with fireworks etc..). I promise! Sorry again for the angst! Many and many thanks to the wonderful Irene, who as always helped me a lot to fix my horrible mistakes. - Flavia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

__**Love, let me sleep tonight**  
On your couch..  
And remember the smell  
And the fabric  
Of your simple city dress..

_**Oh... That was so real (x3)** _

__**We walked around**  
'til the moon got full  
Like a plate..  
And the wind blew an invocation  
And I fell asleep  
At the gate..  
And I never stepped on the cracks 'cause I thought I'd hurt my mother  
And I couldn't awake from the nightmare  
That sucked me in  
And pulled me under  
Pulled me under

_**Oh... That was so real (x3)** _

_**I love you..  
But I'm afraid to love you** _

__**I Love you**  
But I'm afraid to love - you...  
I'm afraid... 

_**Oh... That was so real (x6)** _

_**..real real real...** _

_**Oh... That was so real (x3)** _

_**Jeff Buckley - "So Real"** _

* * *

" _I remember perfectly the first time I saw you. It wasn't 7 years ago, when I literally crashed in your life. It was 3 years ago and it was when I heard these few words_ ,  _from you._

_"I don't count..."_

_It was_ _only then, when,_   _finally, I was able to tear up the veil and see you._ _Really see you. The real Molly Hooper._

_I've never been a man of sentiment ("Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock" I still hear my brother's voice_ _alerting me_ _), I never really understood the love that my parents have for each other, the friendship, the caring. For me those were only chemical reactions, fluids exchange, nothing more of that._

_Because I've always used the other people to my advantage, I didn't care of the feelings._ _I didn't need them to complicate my life, my career, further._

_I've always thought that humans are just complex machines to be studied, full of defects, of chemical reactions that I could never fully understand._

_Then John came in my life. He became my conscience and my friend. He was everything that I thought I could never had and, perhaps, deserve._

_Then I saw you (I really saw you) for the first time... and I was scared. For the first time of my life I was scared. Because for the first time of my life I couldn't understand myself, my reactions and my mind...I was lost and I didn't understand why._

_"You're wrong, you know. You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you."_

_Do you remember these words, Molly? Already at that time I was trying to tell you something ... but I couldn't understand it…_ _I didn't have the time, and the ability, to let my words convey what I was feeling..._

His hand was trembling and aching for the effort. He needed to stop writing, but he couldn't. There was just one sheet before the end of theMoleskine, then it would be over.

That would be the last letter of the many he had already written to would be the last remain of his heart, which was of Molly. It had always been hers.

He began writing again and filled the last page, then he tore it and put it in his pocket.

Beside him was the last dose, the one that none at Baker Street had thought of taking away from his pockets. Then everything would be over. Only his sweetest, dear darkness... it would be over...over..over...over...

"...Sherlock! Wake up!".

"Please, wake up!".

* * *

Molly was sitting in the corner of the Hospital Cafeteria near the windows when she saw Mary, her face devastated, like she was trying in all the ways to hold back the tears.

She stood up to meet her in the middle of the room.

"Mary, what's wr-...". Mary abruptly hugged her tightly. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...I didn't knew...I'm so sorry". The nurse sobbed onto her shoulder.  
Molly broke free from the embrace. She put her hands on Mary's shoulders and stared into her eyes."Mary? What's happened? Is it all alright?".

Mary closed her eyes, inhaled deeply and tried to put herself together. She needed to concentrate, to be a rock for Molly, and John, and the others...and for herself. She opened her eyes and stared at Molly.

"It's Sherlock...".

Molly tore her gaze and hands away from Mary."No, Mary... I-I don't care about what's happened to him..".

Mary took her hands again, and placed a Moleskine in them.

"Please read it,. It's all I ask to you". She took her face in her hands. "I'll be in intensive care...they..he is waiting for you. Just please read it, at least do it for me..would you?".

Molly nodded and tightened her hold on the familiar diary.

"Thank you, Molly". Mary kissed Molly on her forehead an caressed her face."I'll be waiting for you upstairs". She smiled softly to her and turned to the exit.

* * *

" _My Life had stood - a Loaded Gun -_

_In Corners - till a Day_

_The Owner passed - identified -_

_And carried Me away -_

_And now We roam in Sovereign Woods -_

_And now We hunt the Doe -_

_And every time I speak for Him -_

_The Mountains straight reply -_

_And do I smile, such cordial light_

_Upon the Valley glow -_

_It is as a Vesuvian face_

_Had let its pleasure through -_

_And when at Night - Our good Day done -_

_I guard My Master's Head -_

_'Tis better than the Eider-Duck's_

_Deep Pillow - to have shared -_

_To foe of His - I'm deadly foe -_

_None stir the second time -_

_On whom I lay a Yellow Eye -_

_Or an emphatic Thumb -_

_Though I than He - may longer live_

_He longer must - than I -_

_For I have but the power to kill,_

_Without-the power to die-_

_**754 - Emily Dickinson** _

* * *

 

That was one of her favorite poem, and Molly remembered perfectly when she had written it on that Moleskine: it had been their first night at the 221b, at the beginning of their relationship.  
She remembered also why she had chosen to leave that diary in 221b. Because it was a chapter of a story she was trying to delete, to leave behind her...although she had always feared it to be impossible.

The rest of the journal was a series of letters that Sherlock had written to her. They were all about his life, his childhood, his teens years. Everything that he had already told her, and all the things that he had kept inside. His dreams, his fears, his hopes. And then, she was there, too. Molly had always been there. She was everywhere….

_"...I couldn't understand myself, my sentiment for you...I couldn't understand your love for me..._ _You are not an error, a mistake, because you are the most perfect thing that had happened to me.I was blind...And now it is too late._

_I hope you will read these letters, this is the last remains of my heart (the one I always thought I didn't have). And it is yours...It had always been yours. Please forgive me. For everything I've done, said, and neglected to do or say. You are my heart...and my mind._

_I love you Molly. I will always love you._

_Now, and forever yours,_

_S.H."_

She let her eyes linger on the handwritten words, a tear threatening to fall yet stubbornly remaining still. A hand posed tenderly on her shoulder, and she instantly felt strangely guilty, like she was betraying the man behind her.  
"Adam..." she whispered, and a cup of fresh coffee appeared on the table she was sitting at. "I thought you might need it...". His devoted smile. his concerned gaze...Adam. She couldn't see him, not now.

"I- Thank you Adam...I'm sorry, I-I need to go... I need to refresh a bit...I-I'm sorry...sorry". She stood up and turned to the exit in a haste, ignoring her boyfriend's worried reaction.

Molly couldn't hold back the tears, and she did not want Adam to see her in that Moleskine remained open on the table. Adam couldn't help himself and read that last page, that last sentences.

_"I love you Molly. I will always love you._

_Now, and forever yours,_

_S.H."_

Molly returned that moment to retrieve the diary, and saw him leaning on it. When he noticed that she was back, looking at him reading, he looked up at her, theMoleskine in his hand.

"Go to him".

"Adam I...".

"No, Molly,don't. I've always known that you...That he was...I guess I just chose to ignore it, hoping it will fade away, that feeling that I was only a replacement…".

She tried to caress his face, but he recoiled from her touch.

"Don't... Molly, please. I need to be alone...".

"I'm sorry...". Molly tried to apologise, but Adam didn't let her.

"Go to him... Just go...". He gave her the Moleskine and walked out of the room, not looking back at her.

* * *

The last thing he could see of his mind palace was only an infinite white hallway, full of doors. His footsteps, only an echo in that infinity.

Each door was open, letting him gaze into a room, on a piece of his life that he was leaving behind.

There was only one left.

***

"I'm here, I will be here

"Please Sherlock, wake up!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, Irene's here (Not Irene Adler, I think I must point it out after last time. It's just a coincidence...I think). Once again, thanks to all the peole who commented, favorited, and followed our story. You're really precious and kind. Thank you again. Don't despair, like Flavia said, the silver lining is coming!
> 
> Irene


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi It's Flavia! I still believe in the happy ending, but I also believe that he deserves some additional kicks, too...As always many and many thank to the wonderful Irene and to everyone who read, favorited, commented or left kudos on this little story, it means a lots to me, really. Don't worry, this is not the end because there will be another few chapters, at least.

_**Put the pen** _

_**To the paper** _

_**Press the envelope** _

_**With my scent** _

_**Can't you see** _

_**In my handwriting** _

_**The curve Of my g?** _

_**The longing** _

_**[...]** _

_**I need you** _

_**The time is running out** _

_**Oh baby** _

_**Can't you hear me call?** _

_**It turns me on** _

_**To imagine** _

_**Your blue eyes** _

_**On my words** _

_**Your beautiful pen** _

_**Take the cap off** _

_**Give me a sign and I'd come running** _

_**Oh** _

_**It's you** _

_**I want you** _

**The Letter- PJ Harvey**

* * *

"...please, wake up…"

"Wake up…"

**One week later**

"You don't need to go Adam...stay, please...".

"I need to go... you know why". Adam argued back.

"I can't go through this alone…".

"You can, Molly, and you will. You have your friends, your family...and he needs you…".

She shook her head. "No, I can't…".

Adam took her face in his hands, forced her to look up at him. "Molly, I want to ask you one question and you have to be completely honest to me: do you love him?".

Molly looked down on the floor, her hands tightly on her forearms. "Don't ask me this...please".

"Molly, this is just a simple question: do you love him?"

"I..". She hesitated, but Adam didn't stop.

"Do you love him?"

She closed her eyes.

"Yes...". She breathed out.

"Then go to him…".

He kissed her on her cheek. "You are his, as he is yours...I always knew, I'm sorry…I hope you will be happy".

He whispered in her ear "I love you, Molly", before taking his trolley and leaving her flat.

* * *

Sherlock was walking on that white endless, all the doors were closed, except one. He put his hand on the door handle and began to close it.

"Wake up…".

It was barely a whisper, but he could recognize that voice always…Then a scent filled the air, it was of lemons and roses...he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "Molly, my Molly...".

No, probably it was just a cruel joke of his mind, his unconscious last attempt to trying to survive. He began to close the door.

Then that voice began to speak again. _"My dearest Sherlock, do you remember the first time I meet you?..."._

* * *

**Two weeks later**

"I still ask myself if you've had the same dream of mine, if you've had dreamt that little child, like I do every single night. Have you, Sherlock? And I am still wondering if you'd be a good father, or if I'd been a good mother...".

Her hand was still on his chest, near his heart. She was still murmuring her letters to him like she did every single night.

"...and I wonder if you will still love me. If you get bored of me...".

She caressed his face, her thumb brushed his lips.

"...if you will ever wake up…".

* * *

**Three weeks later**

The London night was reflected on the windows and the yellow lights of the street created strange shadows on the wall of the room, but the only sound that filled the room was the constant beeping and the artificial breathing of the machines.

She was lying on his hospital bed, careful not to pinch the wires that held him attached to the machines. Her tiny structure was clinging to his, her hand on his chest and her mouth near his ear. Still reciting the words she wrote for him.

_"...I remember the first time you really kissed me. It was not that night in my flat (that night when all of this started). It was our first night at 221 B. That day you asked me to see me at your flat and I thought it was the usual routine of you asking me something for your experiments, or to help in a new case, but the first thing you did when you saw me in your sitting room was to stare at me in complete silence, as if you wanted to decipher my soul. You put your hands together under your chin without looking away from me for a second. It felt like being put under your microscope._

_Then you started talking. "I'm an insufferable bastard, Molly... And one of the bigger liar you ever know in all your life. I'm a manipulator, a junkie, an arrogant man, I destroy everything I touch and you should be afraid of me."_

_You got up from the couch and you came close to me, never taking your eyes off me._

_"So tell me Molly: why do you love me?"_

_I smiled at you (you are always so blind about yourself)._

_"Because I know all this about you, because I still love you despite (and because) all of this, because I know you are better than this and because I can see you..."_

_You caressed my cheek, your mouth was close to my lips._

_"...and what do you see, Molly Hooper?"._

_I looked up at you._

_"I see a great man with a wonderful heart even if he keep saying he didn't have one and ..."_

_You didn't let me finish the sentence because your lips was already on mine. You kissed me, you really kissed me. It wasn't a passionate kiss, it was gentle and delicate as they should be all the first kisses._

_And then... then I kissed you back, and I remember my fingers holding tight your forearms, almost as if I wanted to make sure you were there"._

* * *

Sherlock was sitting with his back on the white wall of the endless hallway. His gaze was still on the image in front of him: Molly lying with him on his hospital bed.

Her soft breath caressed his skin eliciting a sense of bittersweet nostalgia : the regret about the time they had lost being apart, blurred into the hope that she (and the others) could forgive him...

He heard his name fell from her lips, while she was still sleeping. He closed his eyes and let his memory bring him back to another occasion in which they had shared a bed...

* * *

_"I would never have imagined you were ticklish...The great consulting detective defeated by my nimble little fingers!"._

_Your giggles mingled with my exhausted breathing...The pure joy in your eyes reflected in mines. That's how I want to remember you. Us. Spent, lying one next to the other, the residuals of our lovemaking still on our skin. Don't act so surprised : yes, I did write "lovemaking", because it had was that: not just sex, not comfort, but love...The sentiment that used to frighten and beckon me at the same time - but not now, not anymore, Molly._

_That was the moment when I decided that your happiness was meant to be above mine: basking in the afterglow of our intense intercourse, while watching you falling asleep in my arms, I made another vow, to you: to do whatever I could to ensure your serenity._

_I know that you hate me, fiercely, for the cruel words I spat at you that day; I still hate myself, too, for all the lies I told you, for the hurt that I've caused to you once again. But you have to believe me, Molly: it was necessary. I had to draw you away from me. Not because I was a coward, or because I had already grown bored of you...of us. I had to make you genuinely hate me, so that you could have the life you deserve. I had to protect you from a monster even more dangerous that Moriarty: myself._

_I am my own worst enemy, Molly, and…_

He felt her hand on his shoulder and lifted up his gaze . She was in front of him in the middle of the hallway, dressed like the last time he saw her. She was smiling at him. He lifted up from the ground, his gaze fixed on her.

"...Molly.."

She took his hand. "It's time Sherlock, are you ready?".

A cold wind caressed his face, and he turned to look at the landscape that had changed around him. He was on the roof of Saint Bart's. He turned his gaze back, Molly was beside him, her hand still holding his.

"R-ready for what?".

"To wake up".

She hugged him tightly and together they fell from the roof.

* * *

Molly moved suddenly against his body, and Sherlock lost himself in her warm orbs. No, he was wrong: he was not lost, not anymore. He was finally home, once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, Irene's here. As we said last time, silver lining...it may be nearer now, finally! Thanks again for your support!


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, Flavia's here! First all, thanks for the amazing reception for the last chapter: so many kudos, thank you! Irene and I want to dedicate this chapter to Miz-Joely, as a (very) late birthday gift...and I personally want to thank http://hyacinthsings.tumblr.com/ (that are the wonderful Howterrifying and Forever-lychees on Tumblr) for continuing to inspire me, both for this story and my drawings.

_**Are you an angel?** _

_**Can you save me from this fall?** _

_**I don't need salvation** _

_**I just need to know that I can call** _

_**You are the light** _

_**Will I see your face as I drown this time?** _

_**This time** _

_**Are you an angel?** _

_**I can't look at you at all** _

_**I know I have hurt you** _

_**I just need to know that I can follow** _

_**You are the light** _

_**Will I see your face or will you hide?** _

_**Don't hide** _

_**I can't go back** _

_**I can't go back to this** _

_**You mustn't know that** _

_**You have always been the missing piece of me** _

_**The missing piece of me** _

_**You're the missing piece of me** _

_**The missing piece of me** _

_**I am no angel** _

_**But I won't die from this fall** _

_**You are my salvation** _

_**And as I fade away I'll call** _

_**You are the light** _

_**Show your face before I take flight** _

_**This time** _

_**I can't go back** _

_**I can't go back to this** _

_**But I won't hold back** _

_**I won't let you be the missing piece of me** _

_**So stay with me don't be the missing piece** _

_**Please don't be the missing piece of me** _

_**You are an angel** _

_**And you have saved me from this fall** _

**Death - Hyacinth ( www dot youtube dot come slash watch?v=-PFfmbdhx3A)**

* * *

The last thing he was able to remember was his pen on the Moleskine, and the noises of the street, nothing more. It was like being taken up from the ocean: he could hear his breath, but he couldn't hear the noises that surrounded him. Then there was her voice, whispering in his ear, the painful white of his hospital room, and her face, her gaze fixed on him. He couldn't keep his eyes away from her, still wondering if this was real, If she really was next to him, or if she was still a dream.

"I am real Sherlock, This is not a dream...".

Her hand caressed his face and his shaved head, almost to make sure he was really here, that he was awake.

"You were in a coma for three weeks, my colleagues thought that you would never wake up...".

She stared into his eyes and smiled at him.

"...At least this time you've listened to me...".

He wanted to talk to her, but his voice seemed like it was stuck in his throat. She kissed him on the forehead and lifted up from the bed.

"I'll go to call the Doctor, I'll be here in a minute".

* * *

Molly left Sherlock with the doctor and the nurses, and closed the door of his room,leaning against it. She was tired, she remembered just an infinite series of night spent beside him. She had insisted to be near to him every single night and she couldn't even remember the last time she had slept in a real bed.

She awoke an hour later on an empty bed of the hospital, covered by a warm blanket. She turned her head and saw Mary beside her.

" 'Morning!".

"Where am I... Where is Sherlock?".

"The doctors are still examining him. John is allowed to stay inside, since he's a doctor, and Mycroft too, obviously".

Mary observed Molly: the dark circles under her eyes, the cheekbones, more prominent now that she lost a few pounds, her pale complexion. Her maternal instinct kicked in. "Molly, are you alright?".

Molly dismissed her friend's question with an enthusiastic nod. "Of course I am! Sherlock is finally awake, and-".

"I'm asking about you, Molly, not Sherlock. You stayed here, by his side, every time you could. You neglected yourself, your wealth, even your work, for him...And I understand it, because I would have done the same thing for John, but-".

"But ?". Molly asked, already imagining what Mary would say next.

"We are extremely happy that Sherlock is out of the coma, but now it begins the hard part, Molly. You know that he will need to enter rehab, again. And he needs us at our best, to help him to overcome this difficult task. So, please, go home, take a long shower, and give your body and your mind a rest. We will look after him, don't worry".

Her mind knew that Mary was right: now that Sherlock was awake, the fatigue of a month spent there by his side seemed to have arrived suddenly altogether; and with it, all the questions, the doubts, the insecurities about the past and future, that she had succeeded to rein in during the last weeks, came back. She was aware that the drug treatment, and the physical rehabilitation would be a long and arduous process; at the same time, she knew that Sherlock would not be alone this time.

* * *

This time it was he himself who wanted to enter in the rehab. He needed to do this for Molly, and for himself. For them.

For ten months his daily routine was split into physiotherapy, rehabilitation, and the letters that he wrote. He entertained an intense correspondence with John and Mary, and with his parents; he sent an heartfelt apology to Mrs Hudson, for his rude and violent behaviour towards her, and a witty postcard to Lestrade, joking about "his vacation". But to Molly, he wrote every single night.

He wrote to her again about his dreams, about his days, his progress and the deductions about the nurses and the doctors in the hospital: just to make her laugh, and to forget the suffering of his body who was rebelling against himself. His body, which was still betraying him: it was as if his body refused to cooperate with his brain, like if it were an alien entity, outside of himself.

He was grateful for the letters she wrote him back, and the image of her body bent over her desk, intent in reading his words, helped him to keep going and not going crazy every night when he was alone in his room, with the only company of himself and his nightmares.  
She became his only reality and his anchor, keeping his mind (and his body) clean.  
Her words sometimes reflected his own, even if in that letters there still was some unwritten words, like they were suspended in the air. He could guess them, hidden behind some of her sentences. Sherlock could see them even if she refused to write them down.

"Why all this pain?".

* * *

**10 months later**

He was outside of the hospital waiting for the car that would take him home. There were all with him, all but the only person who matter to him. Molly wasn't there waiting for him.

* * *

She was sitting in his armchair, her face lit by the flames of the fireplace, providing the only light in the room. it was the first time he could finally see her after his rehab. Her hair was loose over her shoulder, and there were some new wrinkles around her eyes that he didn't remember;still, for him she had never looked more beautiful.

"I thought you didn't want to see me, why you are here?". The words came out more harshly than he intended; actually, he felt like he was the one who needed to be scolded, not her.

She looked up at him, totally unfazed by his appearance. "I just needed to talk to you, I need some answer, Sherlock...".

He limped to the armchair in front of her and sat down. "What do you want to know?".

She stood up and went in front of him, her gaze was tired and angry.

"Why all this secrets? All this pain, Sherlock?". Molly came closer to him and looked down to his face."Why didn't tell me anything? ….Why did you want to choose for me? Why…".

He stopped her and slowly stood up in front of her. He decided to ignore her questions and replied with one of his. "When I came out of the rehab you did not come, I didn't see you for days...Why are you here now?".

She brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead and looked away from him. "I didn't come because I was angry! I am angry at you, at myself! YOU LEFT ME!".

She came close again and lifted up her gaze at him, this time her voice was softer but still firm. "You left me… Then you came back and left me this…this diary... You almost died because of me… Because of those words that you didn't say to me…".

Her vision was blurred by tears, but she refused to cry, not in front of him.

"Have you ever wondered if I was thinking the same thing about you, about us? Every time I wondered if I was enough for you, if you'd ever grow tired of me, if you were in love with me, if you were ever in love with me, if I was just an experiment and nothing more…".

"You've never been an experiment for me Molly…". Sherlock tried to caress her cheeks, but she abruptly pulled back,leaving his hand hovering over her face.

"HOW COULD I KNOW? YOU DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING! I HAD TO READ THOSE WORDS IN A DIARY WHILE YOU WERE DYING IN A HOSPITAL BED!".

The tears were falling freely from her eyes now, she could no longer stop them.

"You've chosen to kill yourself because you thought I deserved better... I didn't want something better, because I already had you… I had you...".

Sherlock hugged her, but Molly tried to push him away again.

"I wanted... I want to hate you... But I can't...I love you so much, you are everything. You are in my heart, in my mind,burned in my flesh... And I am so stupid...".

She was sobbing on his chest; he caressed her hair and brought his lips to her ear. "You are the most perfect thing that happened to me...".He took her face in his hands and wiped away her tears with his thumbs.

"You are my anchor, my salvation, my reality, my everything..."

_Doubt thou the stars are fire,_

_Doubt that the sun doth move,_

_Doubt truth to be a liar…."_

His lips were just a breath away from hers.

_"But never doubt I love. "_

**[Author's note: W. Shakespeare, Hamlet - Act 2 scene 2]**

 

He kissed her, he wanted to commit to his memory every inch of her lips, again. Then he started to kiss away her tears, over her cheek, her eyelashes, and continued to brush his lips over her eyebrows, her cute nose, the shell of his ears; he wanted to relearn every inch of her beautiful face, once and for all.

She kissed him back and slowly guided him to sit down on his leather armchair; then she sat on his lap and took his face on her hands, her fingertips slowly caressing his cheek. She stared at him again."Sherlock, if we go on, this time we'll never be turning back...".

"I don't want to go back". He slowly traced the contour of her face with his fingertips, his gaze fixed on her. "I will never go back". He left butterfly kisses over her cheeks, whispering "I want to be with you, I'll be always with you…".

He kissed her again, this time fully on her lips. "I dreamed about you, about us, every night. I missed your voice, your breath on my skin...". He brushed away a strand of hair from her face. "The softness of your hair under my fingertips…". He slowly started to kiss her neck. "The taste of your skin…".

She closed her eyes and focused on his touch and his voice on her skin. "Sherlock...".

He murmured in her ear, his hand slowly caressing her back. "I will never ever leave you… Please forgive me. I've been an idiot...".

She turned to face him and took his face in her hands, smiling at him. "Yes you were,and you still are…". She kissed the corner of his lips. "And I am an idiot too, because I still love you...".

He could feel her smile ghosting over his own. "I love you too, Molly Hooper. I will always love you". With his free hand on her nape he guided her mouth to his. They put in that kiss all the months of absence, of unspoken words.

He sneaked his other hand under her blouse and pushed it up, to touch the soft skin of her back.

"I love everything about you...Your freckles, your stretch marks, your perfect imperfections...I love all of you...". He hugged her close to him and started to kiss her collarbone, sucking on the pulse point between her neck and her shoulder.

She slowly broke from his arms and stood up from the armchair. She took his hand and helped him to get up. He took her again in his arms and kissed her again and slowly guided her to his bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Irene's speaking here. As Flavia already said, with all your reviews you really made us so happy! Thanks once again for your support, and...Are you satisfied now? The happy ending is near, finally...


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer, my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good evening ladies and gentlemen, It's your Captain speaking- no, sorry, I mean: Hello, Flavia's here! Sorry for the wait but I became orphan of Cabin Pressure so I'm still emotionally disturbed (I'm still between crying and laughing a lot), I still can't believe that was the last episode... Anyway, back to our little story: again sorry for the wait, this chapter will be a bit of NSFW because these two idiots after a very long wait deserve it!
> 
> Happy (belated) Christmas to everyone and Happy New Year!

_**I took the stars from our eyes, and then I made a map** _

_**And knew that somehow I could find my way back** _

_**Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too** _

_**So I stayed in the darkness with you** _

**Cosmic Love - by Florence and the Machine**

She lay down on the bed and he followed her, their gazes locked to one another; in that brief moment it seemed like time had slowed : the heartbeats, the breaths and the gestures, everything seemed to flow more slowly.

He undressed her and kissed every inch of skin that he discovered, then he sat up: the need to see her, to be sure that it was not a dream but reality, seemed to overwhelm him. Everything was perfect: her face lit by the light coming from the lamp, her long hair spread on his pillow, her fingertips caressing his scalp, her kisses… It was like if all those months, wasted battling his own instincts and desires, had never happened; as if he had awakened from a long nightmare to find out that it had been only a sick fantasy. He knew it had all been real...because that nightmare, that empty space that no amount of denial, no drug could fill, had been true and the scars on his body, his still trembling hands, were proof of it.

He stripped off his shirt and she welcomed his new state of undress starting to kiss his neck and his shoulder. He positioned his hand on her waist, gently pausing her ministrations, and lifted her until she was positioned on his lap; then, he retaliated by starting to leave feathery kisses and bites on her perky breasts.

Her moans, her words whispered in the silence of the room ...God, how he had missed this...He had missed the taste of her skin on his lips, on his tongue...He positioned her on her back and kissed the underside of her breasts, slowly making his way down, until he reached his destination between her legs.

He started to lick and kiss her clit, and he lifted up on his elbows to see her face; he always loved to see her face suffused by the pleasure: her closed eyes, her half-open mouth, her voice trembling on the verge of the ecstasy.

Molly arched her back and slid her right hand down to grab one of his and put it on her centre, the other grabbing the nape of his head to make him move up to kiss her again. He immediately caught up, starting to apply a slow and soft circling motion on her clit with his thumb; then he inserted one finger in her wet centre and started a slow pace. He kissed her deeply, then added a second finger, then a third and increased his momentum, silencing her moans with his kisses. His lips left hers for a moment, and he lowered his forehead until it touched hers; he stared at her face, his mouth just a breath away from hers. "Molly, my Molly, please let me see, I want to see it please... Please come for me…". He brushed his lips on hers and increased his speed, curling his fingers inside. She thrust herself down on his hand - she was just over the precipice. He lifted his face a bit to see her on the verge of her climax, he could feel her tighten aroud his fingers… then she dropped her head on the pillow, finally crying out his name. He had not seen anything more perfectly beautiful: the woman he loved, glowing in the aftermath of an orgasm, brought to her by him.

Sherlock let his finger slide out of her and put them in his mouth, sucking her juice without taking his eyes off her: she was gorgeous… she was like he had always dreamed her, night after night with her flushed face, her closed eyes, her parted lips and that thin sheen of perspiration on her skin...

She resumed the control of her breathing and lifted her gaze on him, lifting up her hands and grabbing his shoulders, and she repositioned him on top of her. She hugged him tight and kissed his ear ,murmuring "I love you...". He closed his eyes in relief: she was real, she was really with him...he could smell her perfume on her skin, feel her breathe on his shoulder…. He snaked his hand down to grab her waist, and kissed her deeply.

She broke the kiss, smiling at him,and cupped his face with her hands, pullingd back a curl from his forehead. "Am I still dreaming?"

He touched her forehead with his and fixed his gaze on her. " No, Molly, this is real...". He started to pepper kisses over every inch of her face and moved himself between her legs, positioning himself on her entrance. She lifted up her legs to lock them behind his back and moved her hands on his backside; only then he pushed slowly into her.

And finally...after all that darkness, all the pain they found each other. It was like coming home after a long journey...As if they had found the missing piece of their soul.

* * *

 

Molly couldn't remember how long had passed since she had felt the weight of another body upon hers; the comfortable warmth provided from his bare skin on hers, the soft caress of his breath against her nape, his nimble fingers travelling downwards once again...She had missed the intimacy of sharing a bed with the man she was in love with, and having the proof that it had not been another dream, but that Sherlock was really there, ready for another go, was almost overwhelming. She felt the caress of his fingertips on her cheek, nose and on her lower lip, she was smiling under his touch and she slowly opened her sleepy eyes. He was in front of her, smiling "...'Morning...". He kissed her softly on her lips.

"...Sherlock...wait, I need to brush my teeth fir-". He stopped her with a long kiss. "I don't care... Later...There will be time later..." he started to trail open mouthed kisses on her neck,then stopped. "Actually: I think we lost too much time... don't you think?".

"Sherlock...I think we need to talk about what happened...before". Her voice had a serious tone he was not sure he liked very much.

"If you're afraid because we didn't use protection...I'm clean, Molly. You must know it, because I sent you every analysis they performed on me during my stay at the rehab, and I have no problem to let you test my blood even right now".

Her eyes grew wide with surprise. "I- I don't want to examine your blood! I saw the analysis, and even if it's difficult, I trust you, Sherlock". Sherlock sighed with relief, and Molly continued. "I was referring to what happened between us at the beginning. We never talked about..".

"Our baby. The miscarriage...". She nodded. "Why didn't you tell me that you know? For all that time, you were grieving a loss, all alone...".

"So did you. For months, you were the only one knowing about the existance of our child, and you didn't say a word, to anyone".

"You know why I did it...It was too dangerous, for me, for you...for all of us. And when I lost him, or her...for a fraction of time, I felt...".

"Relieved?". At those words, she stiffened in his embrace, and in the dim light, he saw the glint of a tear in her eyes.

"I felt like I had been too greedy, even only for thinking that I could bring a life in this world, only to expose it to the danger of Moriarty's web. It was only for a second, and then I realized that I was only a fool, because I had lost the greatest opportunity of my life. Being a mother, of your child...a child who could have had your smile, or your eyes, your passion, and maybe my nose, or my ears...".

Sherlock let his thumb collect the salty tears that were now running freely over her cheekbones. "It would have a been a magnificent child. I would have taught to him, or her, how to build a Mind Palace, and from you he, or she, would have learnt how strenght can be found behind kindness and compassion".

"You would have been a wonderful father, Sherlock". She breathed the words against his mouth.

"And you would have been an amazing mother", he replied, before capturing her lips once again.

A nagging voice inside her head whispered "Are you really sure you would have been a good parent for that child, Molly?"...but not for the first time, she chose to ignore it. It was not the time for doubt: it was finally the time for joy, and love.

Sherlock, as always the great observer, noticed that her attention seemed to be somewhere else. "Molly, is everything alright?".

"Yes, now it is..." she replied, and took advantage of the interruption to slowly descend down his body. His cock was already at half mast, and twitched as she breathed the words just over it. "Now everything is fine...at last".

* * *

 

 

Sherlock and Molly spent three whole days in that bed with the only interruptions provided by their physiological needs, the books they read together and the music that he played to her. But most of the time it was to making love (as Sherlock liked to name it) or just lying together, talking about everything and nothing and, despite the past fears of Molly, they were never tired of each other: It was perfect.

For that short period that had become their little world away from it, until the reality knocked at the door and from there began their life together. Their relationship was not perfect: like all human relationships: there were fights, days and days of separation followed by turbulent reconciliations, like all relationships. It was imperfect, but for Molly and Sherlock it was the most perfect thing that happened in their life.

**Two years later**

Molly was sure that nothing, not even some criminal mastermind, could break their little bubble of unconventional domestic serenity. And she was right: not even the most dangerous case had frightened her about the future of their relationship...well, not at the level the simple plastic stick sporting two pink lines was terrifying her at the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, Irene's speaking. Merry -belated- Christmas and a Happy New Year from me, too, and thanks once again to everyone who's reading, favoriting and leaving comments. You're all amazing!


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer, my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe that we have finished another chapter! Anyway, sorry for the angst (G.R.R. Martin is my spirit animal, sorry U.U) but I swear that there will be an happy ending! I swear! Flavia

_**I can't sleep tonight** _

_**Everybody's saying everything is alright** _

_**Still I can't close my eyes** _

_**I'm seeing a tunnel at the end of all of these lights** _

_**Sunny days, where have you gone?** _

_**I get the strangest feeling you belong** _

_**Why does it always rain on me?** _

_**Is it because I lied when I was seventeen?** _

_**Why does it always rain on me?** _

_**Even when the sun is shinning I can't avoid the lightning** _

" **Why does it always rain on me?"- Travis**

* * *

"No, no, no, it can't be.. not now... what would we do? What can I do?".

She stared at the test for almost an hour. She was in one of the hospital bathroom, far from the morgue section, when she had discovered the most terrifying news of her life: she was pregnant. She threw away the test and left the cubicle, and then she began to walk up and down the room, hands in her hair. She stopped in front of the mirrors, her hands now gripping the sink with an unsuspected force. She lifted her face up to look at her reflection: she had just turned 35, there were some new wrinkles around her mouth and eyes but, despite this, she still looked more younger than her age. She opened the water and washed her face, took a deep breath and tried to put herself together.

She returned to her morgue, for once glad that Sherlock was away for a few more days with John, working on an extortion case for Mycroft in Cardiff. She needed some time alone, to properly process what was happening, and what would happen in the future. The ghost of her past pregnancy, the fear that another miscarriage could occur, loomed over every gesture, over every thought that day; she finally decide to make up an excuse and asked Mike Stamford if she could go out earlier.

On her way home, she debated with herself if it were too early to fix an appointment with her gynaecologist; she decided to wait another few days, just to give herself some more time to think about it.

A mother running behind a toddler almost collided with her just a few steps away from Baker Street; in less than a few years, that could be her. A man trailed behind the woman, calmly carrying a stroller; he smiled when what Molly deduced was his wife finally caught the little devil. Would Sherlock do the same? Despite what he had written and said to her, there was no way to predict how he would behave when an impatient, tiny human being would disrupt his concentration, demanding to be taken care of.

She opened the door, and without even greeting Mrs Hudson, she reached the flat she shared with Sherlock since that night when they made love after his rehab. She quickly undressed and let herself fall down on the bed, exhausted, hoping for a sleep without dreams.

She was awoken some hours later by an intense purring near her tummy: her old cat Toby was cuddling beside her. She caressed his head smiling, her cat could always understand when there was something wrong. "Well Toby... It seems that I'm at the starting point, again..." She turned on her back and stared at the ceiling, in her mind there were again the same questions: "Could I be a good mother? And Sherlock a good father? I am a socially awkward pathologist, and he is a cosulting detective, an ex-drug addict, a self proclaimed sociopath who likes to conduct experiment with dead bodies... What kind of parents we can be for this child?".

She sat down and leaned back against the headboard, in front of her there was their wardrobe, one of the doors was half open and she could see his shirts neatly lined mixed with her dresses. Her eyes drifted to a small fracture on the wardrobe door, another little reminder of their latest fight: she had been so exasperated by Sherlock that she had to kick the wardrobe to avoid slapping the life out of him another time. He could be a really man-child sometimes: so stubborn, so proud and eager to always show the rest of the world that he had all the truths in his hands, that sometimes she really had the desire to slap him! Could he be a good father? Could she be a good mother? She had no answers, only an endless list of unresolved doubts.

* * *

**Three days later**

She was alone in the hallway of the hospital with her analysis in her hand; she didn't tell anyone about her appointment to the gynaecologist because there still was a part of her that was hoping that there might have been a mistake, but it wasn't: she was pregnant, four weeks pregnant.

Sherlock had called her the night before, apologising because the case was particularly arduous to solve; she had detected in his voice that peculiar tone he always used when he was so intrigued by something to almost forget everything else. It made her feel uneasy: would he be able to leave all behind, when their child would need him to be present? Or the thrill he felt everytime he found a new puzzle to entertain his rentless mind would be more important to him than the needs of his family? She had feigned an impassible answer to his questions about her, instead recommending him to not forget to rest and have a bite to eat every now and then; she had murmured a tired "I love you", anxious to end the call sooner as possible. She knew that having an arch-sleuth as her significant other meant that she had to weigh every word she pronunced,in order to not raise any suspect. Thankfully, being a consultant detective's partner had its perks: for example, she knew how to book a train ticket without leaving any trace.

She raised from her sit in the gynaecologist's waiting room, and put the results in her small hand luggage; she took out the ticket for the train and looked at her wrist-watch. She had a bit more than an hour to reach King's Cross station and catch her train. She had to meet someone really important, and she didn't want to be late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Molly is on the run...but where is she going? And to meet whom? Who knows? Well, obviously we know,being the writers and all, but if you like to have a guess, or deduce it, feel free to leave a review and tell us! Thanks again for your support, and Happy New Year, dear readers!
> 
> Irene


	11. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer, my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dear readers, Irene's speaking. This time the honour of the chapter's introduction has fallen upon my shoulders, so first of all...Shame on you! None guessed where Molly was going or to meet whom...I'm joking, you all gave us a lot of new ideas, and all were lovely guesses! Second: I wrote most of this chapter, so I took advantage of it by making Molly visit one of my dream location...Ah, the wonderful writer's privileges! And last, but not less important: thank you, all of you readers. Every time I hear the alert signaling me that there's a new follower, a new review or someone favorited this story, you make our hearts soar...so, thank you, once again. And now, without further ado...go read and tell us what you think! Lots of hugs, Irene.

_**Here comes the rain again** _  
_**Falling on my head like a memory** _  
_**Falling on my head like a new emotion** _  
_**I want to walk in the open wind** _  
_**I want to talk like lovers do** _  
_**I want to dive into your ocean** _  
_**Is it raining with you** _

_**So baby talk to me** _  
_**Like lovers do** _  
_**Walk with me** _  
_**Like lovers do** _  
_**Talk to me** _  
_**Like lovers do** _

_**Here comes the rain again** _  
_**Raining in my head like a tragedy** _  
_**Tearing me apart like a new emotion** _  
_**Oh** _  
_**I want to breathe in the open wind** _  
_**I want to kiss like lovers do** _  
_**I want to dive into your ocean** _  
_**Is it raining with you** _

**"Here comes the rain again" - Eurythmics**

* * *

A snow white envelope on her pillow. That was the first thing he noticed when he entered their bedroom. He had slept only two hours the night before, trying to hasten his return back to London, after his last phone call to Molly. There had been something unusual in her voice, that had troubled him since then; the case was important, and interesting, too, but he couldn't wait to return home. And when he said home, he didn't mean his flat; since more than two years now, "home" had been simply a synonym for "Molly".

But she wasn't there. The letter didn't tell him where she was going, or for how long she would be away. Her rounded handwriting simply said that she needed to be alone to think, but it failed to reassure him that she would be back soon.

He analysed the ink: just two days old. He checked the internet history on her laptop, cunningly left home: she had deleted it like he had taught her a few months before, to avoid leaving any trace behind herself.

What an idiot he had been! Teaching Molly how to hide herself...What a moronic idea! To his partial defence, he had done it only to show her to protect herself in case he was away; how could he imagine that she would want to hide from him?!

Mrs Hudson was on a cruise with her new beau; Meena and Mary, her closest friends, had not heard from her since the previous weekend, and when asked, they told him that Molly seemed perfectly fine back then.

Mycroft was his last resort: even with her phone turned off, the British Government had all the means to trace her easily. He bit the bullet, and sent him a text. "Find Molly- SH". On second thought, he sent another one. "Please - SH".

A few, excruciating minutes later his smartphone announced the arrival of an incoming text with some coordinates. "Of course!". He had been too distraught to see the obvious...so that was what John and the others experienced every day! He chastised himself for a few seconds, then he took his laptop to book a flight.

His smartphone vibrated again. "You're welcome -MH". He frowned at it, but sent a laconic (and sincere) "Thank you" to his brother anyway. Sherlock took his still unopened luggage, and sprinted downstairs to catch a cab.

* * *

Originally built in 1875, the Inn at John O'Groats had been carefully restored by one of her oldest friends, who had dropped out of Uni a few years before the graduation. It had been a lucky coincidence, meeting a girl who came from the same place where she had spent a lot of summer vacations with her father, and Molly had always been in touch with Adele, even if they couldn't spend much time together.

Her friend had come to welcome her at the bus station, and without any request of a lenghty explanation, had given her the key of one of the studio apartment within the Inn. It featured an open space, with a modern living room and a comfy-looking sleeping area, a fully equipped kitchen and a large bathroom with a big bathtub. The large windows provided a vantage point to admire the view of John O'Groats' coastal scenery.

Molly found out that Adele had left one of the customary welcome basket on the dining room's table; it contained a selection of the delicious local products, and a magnum bottle of wine. The awareness that from now on she should better abstain from alcohol consumption hit her like a brick; even with all the doubts she was experiencing, a part of her was adamant to protect the little life growing inside of her.

* * *

The second day of her stay, Molly decided to follow Adele's advice and booked a tour of the Orkney Islands. There were around 70 islands in the archipelago, but she wanted to visit only two of them: Mainland, with St. Magnus Cathedral and its museums, full of prehistoric and Vikings collections, and obviously, Stromness. Her father adored Stromness. They had spent all their summer vacations, since she was five years old until his death; they had explored together every narrow street, every passageways of the small town, turning every excursion in an adventure.

When the weather was harsh and inclement as only the scottish weather could be, they used to visit the local Museum, spending hours admiring the extensive natural history collection, that featured rocks, seashells, birds; when instead it was sunny and warm enough, they usually packed a light picnic-basket and walked from the Pierhead to the cannon at the South End, through the closes and lanes of the town; sometimes they went even a bit further afield, round the West shore of Stromness to the Ness Battery, until they could admire Scapa Flow. There her father explained to her the importance of the Orkney during both World Wars, in a desperate yet futile attempt to awoke in her some interest in History.

"You see, Molly: Ness Battery had always been crucial to defend Scapa Flow, which is one of the world's finest anchorages. That's what you have to do, when you find something inestimable: you protect it, even at your life's cost. You have to do everything in your power, and be brave, to preserve it. Do you understand me, Molly?". Back then she had simply nodded, too young to understand the real meaning of her father's words; but now, the importance of his lesson was evident, clear as day.

During the ferry trip back to John O' Groats, she felt serene for the first time since the discovery of her pregnancy. Returned to the Inn, she finally decided to book her return train ticket to London; she ogled her smartphone, which had been off since her departure from home, but decided against using it, allowing herself another day of peace and quiet.

* * *

The following morning Molly woke up early, preparing for a quick excursion to Duncansby Head, where eleven years before she had honoured his father's wish to spread his ashes just over the high cliffs. The two miles-long walk led her to a view that never failed to steal her breath: Thirle Door and the Stacks of Duncansby, standing out against the sea, majestic and stunning as ever.

She sat down on the grass, in front of her there was a perfect view of the ocean and the beach that her father loved so much. Molly touched the necklace she always wore around her neck, the last gift of her late father, took a deep breath and began to speak.

"Hi dad. I know, it's been a long time since I've come here to make a visit to you. Last time it was 10 years ago, do you remember? I was 25 at the time and for the first time in years I was happy: finally all my dreams were coming true. I had become a pathologist, I had found a nice flat near Kensington Garden and I had met a guy…".

Molly paused a moment and left her gaze move down to the grass, smiling at the memory of her past self. "You know, I've never believed at the "love at first sight", but I think it was exactly what had happened to me. The first time I saw Sherlock entering in my morgue like a storm…". She felt the wind that brushed her face and ruffled her hair, she lifted up her face and closed her eyes. "He was a tall, elegant, mysterious guy with piercing blue-green eyes and a deep velvet voice…".

Molly started giggling and ran her hand across her forehead to brush a lock of hair. "It is a bit of a clichè, isn't it? The mysterious guy and the shy girl...It seems the beginning of one of those silly romantic tales and maybe it was just one of those… after all the igredients were all there: the enigmatic guy with a dark past (who was also the most incredible genius I've ever met and the most arrogant git I've ever known), and the shy lonely girl, who had just lost her beloved father for an incurable disease…".

Molly felt the tears fall from her eyes. "I miss you dad, I miss you so much...You know: everytime I look at him I wonder what you would have thought about him, about our weird, sad, silly love story… ". She wiped away the tears with the back of her hand. "Sometimes I can see a bit of you in him. Under all the masks that he keeps to wear : the arrogant man, the genius, the junkie, the consulting detective, the manipulator, the liar...I still see a good man, like you. I can see his heart, and it's beautiful".

Molly lifted up her gaze to the ocean in front of her. "But despite this I'm afraid... I am still afraid of us. We are just two broken people…". She put her hand on her belly. "And maybe we are not ready for this...Maybe we are too fragile for this...But I want to keep the baby, Dad...Maybe I am the selfish one, not him…".

Molly looked down on her hand, still brushing gently over the coat. "I wish you were here with me, Dad...I don't know what to do…".

"...Then why you didn't ask me first?".

The cold wind caressed her face and she closed her eyes...That deep voice again, she could recognize it everywhere.

"How long have you been here, Sherlock?".

"Long enough to hear your speech".

She turned her face to him."Have you ever read the note? I just need some space. So, please, go ho-".

"No. ". Sherlock took her note from his pocket and came close to her. "You can't do this alone: this is about our child, Molly!".

She lifted up her face to look at him. "No Sherlock: this is about us, about you and me."

Sherlock moved away from her, his body was rigid and his face a cold mask. "You don't trust me...after all this years...".

"Sherlock.. this is not what I meant".

"After all we said...After all the promises, the words…Every single word I said to you was true…". His gaze was burning on her. "But I don't know if it's all the same to you."

"Of course it still is...". She argued back, her voice tired, yet secure.

"Then why you didn't tell me first? Why did you run away, leaving me only this note?".

On her face formed a sad smile."It is ironic, isn't it? We are at the starting point again, just the roles are reversed…".

"I'm not the same person, Molly. And you, of all the people who know me, should know it".

"No, you are the same person: the difference is that you have agreed to be human…At the same time you still get bored very quickly, you still isolate yourself from me and your friends for days and days when you are on a case. And you still are a chaotic man-child: so stubborn, so proud and eager to always show the rest of the world that you had all the truths in your hands!". She came close to him."...I- I don't think you are ready for this...".

"I am ready for this! Let me tr-"

"This is not another experiment Sherlock! This is a human life! And that's exactly why I'm having all these doubts about this situation!".

"So, that's your solution: bolting away, miles away from home, from me, to decide the fate of this baby? Of us? Well, I should have expected it from you: it's exactly what you did with that idiot of a fiancè you found just after I left, isn't it, Molly? Things were going to be too serious, you got scared and decided that no, you weren't ready...So one morning you left his flat, with an envelope resting on his pillow, with the ring and a brief note saying "I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore ?". Are you really such a coward, Molly Hooper?".

Her right hand was fast, but his left one was faster. "No, this time a slap won't work, Dr. Hooper. My reflexes are not inhibited by any drug, unfortunately for you...and I'm not the one who decided to do something foolish, like leaving without telling me that you were pregnant".

His voice cracked, betraying his emotions, but he mantained his strong grip on her wrist, despite her struggle to free herself. "Leave me alone, Sherlock…" she pleaded, her voice quivering with frustration.

"No. Not until we decide what we are going to do now. Key-word "We", Molly. You and me, as responsible adults...as a future father and mother of this child". His free hand lowered down towards her belly, slowly, as to give her all the time to flinch back. She didn't. He took it as a good sign, and tentatively caressed her just over her coat. She held his intense gaze, her chin high and firm.

The first raindrops fell on them, breaking their silent staring contest. "Do you want to speak about it just here, or can we go somewhere else? Preferably with a roof over our heads, if you don't mind".

He didn't seem inclined to release her, so she just nodded and started to walk in the direction of the inn. The wind was howling stronger, and the rain fell harder, compelling them to quicken their pace. Every step got them close to a confrontation that could change their lives forever.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, Flavia's here! This time I haven't contributed so much on this chapter (just few lines of dialogues, nothing more) so, if you love this chapter like me, please send tons and tons of love and appreciations to Irene and her wonderful work in this chapter. Thank you for your comments, kudos, favourites etc... you are all amazing!


	12. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer, my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's (aka Flavia's) note: In this chapter there will be some smut, some relief, Sherlock who is becoming an adult (I hope) and my silly tentative to write a poem, the morning after has been all written by the wonderful Irene and inspired by my old sherlolly sketch so send her tons and tons of love because she deserves it !

 

 

_**Help, I have done it again** _

_**I have been here many times before** _

_**Hurt myself again today** _

_**And the worst part is there's no one else to blame** _

_**Be my friend, hold me** _

_**Wrap me up, unfold me** _

_**I am small, and needy** _

_**Warm me up and breathe me** _

_**Ouch, I have lost myself again** _

_**Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found** _

_**Yeah, I think that I might break** _

_**Lost myself again and I feel unsafe** _

_**Be my friend, hold me** _

_**Wrap me up, unfold me** _

_**I am small, and needy** _

_**Warm me up and breathe me** _

**Breathe me - Sia**

* * *

Molly closed the door of her little studio apartment as soon as they reached in. Sherlock was completely soaked, he had preferred to give his coat to Molly and refused to cover himself from the rain.

Sherlock was sitting near the kitchen table, his gaze was everywhere, on every single particular in the room, his eyes were on everything but was staring at his hands who were gripping painfully the table's edge. "You can speak to me, you know".

Sherlock pursed his lips and turned his face to the window, focusing on the sound of the rain, trying to find the right words to say to her. Molly was tired to wait; finally she rose from the chair and stood in front of him. "Fine, I'm going to make a cuppa, if you need something..." She started to move towards the kitchen corner when suddenly she felt his hand on her wrist. She turned back, standing between his legs. With his hands on her back he made her lean even closer to him and rested his head on her tummy."Don't leave me…", he begged, his voice croaking.

She froze on her spot. "Sherlock, wh-".

"Please, don't leave me…". He nuzzled his cheek on her belly. "Don't make the same mistakes I did".

Molly lifted her hand to caress his curls, her gesture more meaningful than a lenghty conversation. Sherlock closed his eyes in relief and took her hand, his lips brushing the lines on her palm, and lingering on her pulse. "I know I am not a perfect man, but I need you…I can try...No, we can try this together...But I need to know that you're going to be with me…". He held her even closer, starting to pull up her shirt until her pale abdomen came to sight; he let out a sigh, before kissing her bare skin. "Please, don't leave me…" he repeated, tightening his hold on her back with one hand while his mouth started to move downwards, his other hand slipping under her shirt. "Don't leave me…". She closed her eyes and sighed at the feeling of his lips on her skin. She caressed his cheek, and her gesture made Sherlock raise from the chair; his gaze fell on her closed eyes, he moved his mouth to whisper to her ear his newfound mantra: "Don't leave me…". He stroked his thumb gently over her closed eyelids, brushing his fingers over her cheekbones until he reached her chin and lifted it up, his mouth just a breath away from her. "What do you need, Molly?". Finally she opened her eyes, his blue-green gaze engulfing hers; a small smile appeared on her lips, while he asked again.

"What do you need?"

"You".

She kissed him deeply, putting her arms around his neck. Sherlock gripped her thighs and lifted her up without effort, setting her down on the kitchen table without breaking their kiss. He stood between her legs, her ankles locked behind his lower back, and quickly undressed her from the waist up, leaving butterfly kisses on her neck, on her collarbone, lowering his face until he reached her breasts. She stopped him and lifted his face, she needed to feel his lips on hers and he obliged, his tongue battling with hers. Sherlock moved his hands upwards, reaching her loose hair and breaking the kiss. A hand on her nape, he lowered his forehead until it touched hers, and let out a deep breath. "I need you, Molly…".

He closed his eyes, focusing on her laboured breath on his skin, on her tiny hand quickly opening his shirt's buttons and then unbuckling his belt, on her voice reassuring him. "I'm here, I am not going anywhere...I'm here...".

He didn't waste any more time to undress himself, in an instant his clothes were on the floor. Molly arched her back and he assisted her into her impromptu strip-tease, his lips on every portion of skin he could reach.

Not leaving her the time to discard her underwear, he put his hands around her backside, moving her even closer to him: he needed to feel her breasts pressed on his skin, the sound of her heartbeat on his chest...He moved his hand from her back to her breasts and slowly caressed his way down to her panties, pulling it down from her legs. Molly kissed him deeply, letting his tongue caressing her mouth and opened her legs wider, while slipping her hands to his backside and returning the favour, pushing his boxers down. He lifted his gaze up on her deep brown eyes and took her face in his hands. "I love you..." and then he bit and sucked her bottom lip and murmured again on her lips "You are my heart...You will always be". He lowered his hand to her wet center and teased her entrance with one finger but she stopped him and kissed him lightly on the lips. "No...Sherlock please... I-I need you…". She looked straight in his eyes. "I need you…" Molly repeated and slipped her hand on his cock, putting it closer to her center. "I love you" he breathed against her lips, pushing himself slowly into her, muffling her moan into another kiss.

Their kisses became more frantic and needy as they started to approach their climaxes; then he gripped her arse, holding her even more closer to him, and she lifted up her legs to lock them behind his back, anchoring her hands to his shoulders. " I love you...I-I love you...".

His movement became more urgent and he lifted her lightly from the table and buried his face on her hair, as if he wanted to to melt completely into her.

Then there was one deep, final push and finally they came together for the first time...It was like a flash of light, enveloping them in an empty but peaceful space. It was as, for the first time, they were really one.

* * *

The first thing Sherlock noticed, as the first rays of dawn enlightened the apartment, was the he was sore. Pleasantly sore, but his muscles ached nonetheless. Probably he was not so young anymore, and his body could not fully sustain the passion that their forced estrangement had elicited in both of them; most likely, the psychological exhaustion was also exacting its toll on him. They had faced their biggest fight as an established couple, something that had potentially threatened to end their relationship, and had overcome it. And less than twelve hours before, he had apprehended that he was going to be a father. Sherlock Holmes, a father. Molly's doubts about his commitment, they had hurt him; but he couldn't ignore the fact that they seemed quite plausible. He had despised sentiment, love, affection, the need of having friends, a family, as something banal and foolish for so much time, and he couldn't blame Molly for believing that he was unable to provide her, and their child, the love and care they obviously would need and deserve. But he had changed so much, he had evolved in the good man everyone else thought he could become, and he wouldn't let her doubts, or even his own fears, steal his occasion to show Molly what he really was. Molly, the woman who counted; the one who had waited for him, and suffered with and because of him; the future mother of his child. She constantly amazed, and puzzled him; and with her devotion, she motivated him to be deserving of her love.

Begrudgingly, he disentagled himself from her embrace, to retrieve his coat. From one of his pocket he extracted a piece of paper.

"What are you doing out of bed? Not that I don't like the view, but…". Molly's playful voice reached him, and he didn't waste time to return to the warm cocoon that both the blankets and her body provided.

"I have a confession to make". He lay down on the bed, careful to not hurt her, his body perpendicular to hers, his mouth conveniently near to her breasts.

"I stole something from you, just after my return from rehab…". His breath caressed her nipple, and she let out a sigh, her hand going automatically to his head, brushing away his curls from his forehead.

"Did you? And why are you telling me only now?". The last words were nothing more than a murmur, and he reluctantly detach his lips from her breast; as alluring as she looked at the moment, he needed to talk with her. Properly.

"I- I took a page from your diary. The one you were writing on while I was detoxing. I know I shouldn't read it, but...Well, you know who I am. Sherlock Holmes, rude, improper, disrespectful...Anyway, that's not the point". He silenced her with a pointed finger. "Don't interrupt me. Please".

"May I just add that I already know that you were reading it, and I'm not angry with you?". Her impish smile had the power to make him relax, if only a little. "But I have no idea about the content of the page you tore away from it".

"It's a poem". Sherlock handed her the piece of paper. "A poem you wrote about me. About us". Without pause, he started to recite the words he had committed to memory years before.

**_Ex-Anima_ **

_Let it down, let it down_

_Even in your deep thoughts_

_He never leaves you_

_He is here_

_He was here_

_He will be here_

_And you are his warder_

_Let it down, let it down_

_He never release you_

_He is in your mind_

_He is in your heart_

_He will never release you_

_Please let me down, let me down_

_I want to walk alone_

_In this darkness_

_I want to close my eyes_

_And see nothing_

_You are my most beautiful dream_

_And my worst nightmare_

He stopped, and was not surprised to see tears in her eyes. "I understand why you wrote it, and once again, I beg you to forgive me".

"Oh Sherlock...You know I've already forgiven you. There's no need to-".

"Let me finish. During these years, you know how hard I've tried to be the man you deserve. I've made mistakes, and I will continue to make them. Despite the rumors, I'm only human, after all. What I need to know now, is...Is it enough for you? For both of you, I mean". He gestured awkwardly towards her belly, and without realizing it she caressed her abdomen.

"I understand why you are so insecure, and afraid. I harbour the same doubts you have, about my capacities, about my faults. I can't promise you that I won't make you suffer again, Molly. And you can't, either. We are not that kind of boring persons, and I don't want us to be. We'll be making mistakes, like every couple of parents would do...But this child, our child...is the best part of me, and the best part of you, combined. I said it before, and I won't stop repeating it: you would have been a great mother for the child that we lost, and you are going to be a great mother for this one".

Molly tried to stop the tears, in vain. She didn't even notice when she had started to cry, at what part of Sherlock's speech.

He lifted up his worried face in front of her "I-I'm sorry, I didn't want to-"

"No Sherlock...What I mean is: thank you..."

She brushed away her tears and covered her eyes with her hands, a bright smile on her lips. "This is the most wonderful thing you've ever said to me". She moved her hands away from her face to caress his cheekbones."We can try this together, as long as you will want to be with me."

He leaned his forehead until it touched hers.

"No Molly: as long as you will agree to be with me...you keep me right, you make me human...". He looked straight into her eyes. "...And you are my heart...".

She pecked him lightly on the lips."As you are mine, Sherlock...".

He lay down on his back and let Molly recline on top of him, her cheek resting on his chest while his hand was drawing slow circles on her back. He kissed her forehead and fixed his gaze on the ceiling, before turning slightly to whisper in her hair "I've always imagined that he was a boy..."

She lifted up her face. "Who?".

He smiled at her and with his free hand he caressed her cheek "Our child. I've always imagined that he was a boy...". He closed his eyes, for the first time in months allowing the memories of his dreams to come back. "I dreamed about him many and many times...".

Molly rolled on her stomach and put her hands under her chin, "I know that you had dreamed about our child, I read it in your moleskine; but you never wrote if he was a boy or a girl...". She let her gaze roam over his face. "I always wondered why...".

Sherlock looked straight into her eyes. "Because I was afraid…". "Afraid of what ?", she asked, moving once again near him, her cheek resting in the crook of his neck.

"Because, more I added details to that picture I had of our child, more my loss, our loss, was real. It wasn't rational, because my mind kept telling me that I couldn't miss something that never came to life; but nonetheless, I felt the hollow space in my heart that his death had left. And now...We've been so lucky to have another occasion, another chance, and I don't want to be afraid anymore. I want to think about the doctor's appointments, about the colour scheme of the nursery, about the school we have to choose…".

"Oh, Sherlock! I think it's a bit early to think about his or her education! For now, let's just focus on us". She took one of his large hands, and let it cover her belly, enjoying the warmth of his skin on her abdomen.

"I like the sound of that...Us. Yes, let's just focus on our family".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Here's your dear Irene, frankly massively worried that her Sherlock is too OOC...But as Flavia's said, he's becoming a real man, he's more mature and sure of his grasp of all that sentiment stuff, so he can't be the same character we are used to watch on tv, I think. As usual, thanks everyone for your support, it really means a lot for both of us!


	13. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer, my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Flavia's here, we had left the two idiots discussing about their future child, and in this chapter begins the countdown to the birth of the little Hooper-Holmes. One chapter (and an epilogue) to go, and then this story will be complete!

**3rd month**

**_I walked all morning to life my heart_ **   
**_'Cause the world keep dancing with_ **   
**_The paper man_ **   
**_I love you never talk in dreams_ **   
**_The now is here your happiness is real_ **

**_Oh make some big jumps, big jumps_ **   
**_You afraid to break some bones?_ **   
**_Come on do some big jumps, big jumps_ **   
**_Life is yours alone_ **   
**_You hold your head up, your head up high_ **   
**_Like you think I do_ **

**Big Jumps - Emiliana Torrini**

Molly was sitting on the edge of the couch, every pair of eyes in the room fixed on her. Well, every gaze, but Sherlock's, who was standing in front of the windows, his hands clasped behind his back and his gaze lost on the street under him. John, Mary, Greg and Mrs Hudson: every worried look on her, the silence utterly deafening. Molly had never felt so uncomfortable in all her life.

She smirked awkwardly, fixing her gaze to her feet, and started to speak. "Well...First of all, thank you all for coming…". She lifted her gaze on Sherlock, who was still standing in front of the window and took a deep breath. "I- ehm. No, we have some news -".

She felt Greg, who was sitting just beside her, grasp her forearm. "Molly..." She turned to him, surprised by the interruption. " He left you again, didn't he?".

"Greg this is not-". The silver-haired DI abruptly hugged her close to his chest."Don't worry Molly: I'm here, we are here. I promise you, this time we won't leave you alone... This bloody bastard, instead-".

"Gavin, can you please put your hands away from Molly? We all know (well: I know) that you have a crush on her, but, trust me, this is not the time, nor there will ever be a time for you to put your fingers on my pathologist".

Greg lifted up his angry gaze on Sherlock. "For the thousandth time: it's Greg, you clot! And if you think I will remain here, silently, to witness you making her suffer again I swear...". Finally Molly pulled away from his arms, blushing furiously. "Shelock please stop provoking him! And Greg: this is absolutely not what you think!"

Then it was John who intruded on the conversation. "Oh my God! You are going to marry! I knew it!".

Everyone in the room turned their faces on him. "What?" Mrs Hudson started to giggle from her spot on the other side of the couch. "Oh my, my...John! Don't you see? They are already married!".

John lifted up from his chair and came closer to Mrs Hudson. " Mrs Hudson, this is impossible: I would have known if- Wait". He turned towards Sherlock. " This may be a typical behavior from Sherlock: do something without telling anyone...".

Sherlock sighed, annoyed. "John, please..."

"No, no, no, I see... How could you marry her without telling me? Us? You git!". The doctor turned to Molly " And you, Molly: how could you let him do this?". Molly's gaze met Sherlock's and they burst into laughter at the same time.

John rolled his eyes, offended by their childish behavior. "Ok, it's enough…". He turned to Mary, who was beaming at the laughing couple. "Mary, do you have to tell us something?".

Her wife lifted up from the couch and gave a peck on his cheek. "Sherlock was right: you see, but you don't observe." She turned to the other members of that little meeting. "There is a mahogany cot, not yet assembled, out of the door that no one noticed...".

"W-What do you mean?".

"I mean, my distracted husband, that probably in less than seven months you're going to be a godfather...".

* * *

**4th month**

_**Baby today you gonna win it** _   
_**They gonna remember your name** _   
_**They gonna remember your name** _   
_**You gonna remember my name** _   
_**I've got a feeling** _   
_**You gonna remember my name** _

**Remember My Name - Yuna**

"Mark?"

Molly was sitting on the couch, her hand caressing her tummy, while Sherlock was standing in front of the window, his violin resting on his shoulder.

"Who?"

She smiled at him and explained her question. "For the baby's name, what do you think?".

He gave his pathologist a frown of disapproval. "Absolutely no! It is a silly and boring name."

"What about Darcy? You know, like Darcy from "Pride and prejudice", it's one of-".

"...One of your favorite novels, I know. Nope". She turned her face at him. "Why not? It is a beautiful name, and unusual…".

He sat down on the couch, next to her. "Molly, I never read the novel, and I have no intention to waste my time by reading it now, but as you already told me several times this Darcy was an arrogant, stubborn man and-".

Molly stopped him. "And I think this description reminds me of someone…". She lifted her mischievous gaze at him. "Guess who?".

Sherlock furrowed his brow and looked at her. "Molly… seriously?". She started to giggle " Yeah, ok... fine, I think that one arrogant, stubborn man in the family is enough".

He came closer to Molly and lifted her on his lap. "I thought you liked that kind of man...".

She brushed away an errant curl from his forehead and sighed. "Yes, I guess... Even if sometimes I want to slap him".

He smirked at her "I'm sure you are not the only one...".

Molly caressed his cheekbones and made a scowling face. "Ah, Mr. Holmes... I thought I was the only one to have had this privilege...". He gave her a light peck on her lips and murmured "Dr Hooper, you can do anything you want to me".

"Oh, I do know it already, Mr Holmes... And be sure that I will…".

She kissed him, and then she abruptly broke the kiss. "What do you think about Gregory, you know for the baby...".

"Molly, what? Are you serious?".

* * *

**5th month**

_**"Our house, in the middle of our street** _

_**Our house, in the middle of our** _

_**Our house it has a crowd** _

_**There's always something happening** _

_**And it's usually quite loud"** _

**Our house- Madness**

Sherlock was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the empty room, surrounded by layers and layers of catalogues of interior paint, every kind of photos and examples of interior designs for kid's room, even a small scale plastic of the 221b .

John knocked a few times on his former room's doorframe. "Ehm... Sherlock?".

"Yes, John?".

"Molly sent me here to tell you that dinner is ready…".

"Not hungry, thanks…".

Just a few seconds later, the sound of heavy steps on the stairs made the consulting detective mutter some unintelligible words.

"May you tell your friends that his stubbornness, as well as his poor taste, is delaying one of the most important moment of the day for a pregnant woman?". Molly's sarcastic tone worried John a bit, and he was ready to refer her words to the man just a few feet away from them (even if he found it quite degrading and stupid, but he was not so foolish to tell it to a foolish man-child and his five-months-pregnant girlfriend), when Sherlock left his papers on the floor and reached them.

"John, would you please remember to the woman who is carrying my child in her womb, that's because she's used to wear the most hideous combination of colors, there's no way I would permit her to ruin my child's style before his birth?".

Molly's shriek was deafening. " Your child? Your child? So what am I, just the happy recipient of your sacred sperm, you idiotic wanker?".

"Sherlock, Molly, I think you're making a matter of life or death of a simple and silly choice…". John sensed both their heated glare collide on him at the same time.

"Sherlock... did your best friend really say what I think he said?".

"I think he did, my dear... John, do you really believe that the choice of a colour set for our child's room is something foolish?".

The poor doctor, slash blogger, slash best friend, slash soldier, had faced unspeakable dangers, and threats, but at the moment he would welcome back Moriarty with open arms if he could save him from those two. In his last moment of clarity, he put his life in the hands of the only one who could defend him, and hopefully bring back peace to Baker Street.

"Mary...please, help me!".

* * *

**6th month**

_**"I wish to stay forever, letting this be my food** _

_**Oh, but I'm caught up in a whirlwind** _

_**And my ever changing moods, yeah"** _

**My ever changing mood - Style Council**

"So... What about reflexology?"

"I don't know, Molly, what about it? Are we speaking about it regarding what aspect of human life?".

"Well, the other day I was reading about the benefits that reflexology sessions could provide to pregnant women, and I was thinking I could try it. It helps with the morning sickness, the lack of energy, the backache…"

"The incontinence, the digestive disorders, the swollen extremities and the sore breast…". Sherlock seemed inclined to continue with the list, but Molly stopped him.

"Wait a minute... So you already knew about it, and you didn't tell me? Why, Sherlock? Why are you so determined to make me suffer like that?". Molly cried, letting herself fall on the sofa.

Sherlock repressed a sigh at his girlfriend's umpteenth mood swing and sat down next to her. "Because there's not a single person in this country that I trust to put his, or her fingers on your body right now. I asked Mycroft to search for the most reliable and prepared professional in this continent, or even, God help us, in the colonies... unfortunately my previous attempts to find someone in the remaining continents were unfruitful. Well, not entirely fruitless... I discovered a couple of fugitives meanwhile".

Molly heaved a sigh, utterly dejected. "So, no reflexology for me…".

Sherlock stood up, and went to retrieve his laptop. "Doctor Hooper, don't become discouraged so soon. Thankfully, the interweb, as full of rubbish as it can be, comes to my aid. I'm sure that in a few weeks, with the only aid of YouTube and maybe with the advice of the less obnoxious experts I found here, I will become a master of the discipline. Meanwhile... May I offer a simple foot massage?".

Molly's eyes were already full of tears when she sobbed a "Yes", before launching herself in Sherlock's arms.

"You're crying... Why are you crying? Why do the people always cry when I'm sure I've done nothing wrong?".

"Oh, shut up, you adorable genius... And prepare to give me the best massage you can perform, now!".

* * *

**7th month**

_**"There's a light when my baby's in my arms** _   
_**there's a light when the window shades are drawn** _   
_**hesitate when i feel i may do harm to her** _   
_**wash it off cuz this feeling we can share** _   
_**and i know she's reached my heart, in thin air"** _

**Thin air - Pearl Jam**

"...Sherlock! Are you awake?".

"Ummm...no, thanks to you, not anymore!".

"Can I ask you something?"

"Would it make any difference if I said no?"

"Of course!".

"Then no, Molly, don't talk to me, please. I just want to sleep…".

"...Pretty please?"

"Umfh! Fine!"

"I want some turkey sandwich with cranberry..."

"What? It's 4 in the mo-"

"Yeah yeah yeah, it's 4 am, I know, can you please give it to me?"

At those words Sherlock rolled over and wrestled with her for a bit, until he was hugging her from behind, plastering her neck with wet kisses.

"Sherlock... What are you doing?".

"You said "Can you give it to me?". Since you've been so polite to say please…" and then the consulting detective wiggled his pelvis against her bum.

"The sandwich, Sherlock. I meant the sandwich". Molly's tone had a decisiveness with it, and seemed to border the irritation's area.

"Can't you wait until morning?".

"It is already the morning Sherlock! And I want to remember that you have beside you a very hungry, emotionally unstable and very very big pregnant woman!"

"..."

"..."

"...You can't wait, can you?"

"Sherlock!"

"...Ehm... fine, fine... I'll go to prepare you something...".

"Not something: ".

"Fine, ok, a turkey sandwich with cranberry. I gotta go"

"Thank you!".

"..."

"...What?"

"You scare me sometimes... Do you know that?"

"Sherlock, you know that it's better if you don't provoke me...".

"...Ehm, yep... I mean... Fine... Fine..."

"Love you!".

* * *

**8th month**

**_And I don't believe in the existence of angels_ **   
**_But looking at you I wonder if that's true_ **   
**_But if I did I would summon them together_ **   
**_And ask them to watch over you_ **   
**_To each burn a candle for you_ **   
**_To make bright and clear your path_ **   
**_And to walk, like Christ, in grace and love_ **   
**_And guide you into my arms_ **   
**_Into my arms, O Lord_ **   
**_Into my arms, O Lord_ **   
**_Into my arms, O Lord_ **   
**_Into my arms_ **

**Into My Arms- Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds**

He was late. Again. This case was more difficult than he thought.. "Molly will be mad at me, for sure ", he thought as he took off his shoes and entered the room, taking care to not wake Molly who was sleeping on his side of the bed.

He dressed up with his usual pajama bottoms and T-shirt and lay down in front of her. She was beautiful, even more than she was before. Her skin was so bright,almost glowing in the darkness of the room, and her hair... It seemed as if she could capture all the light in the room and on her face there was always a light smile, as if the happiness of the bump was reflected on her. Sherlock gave her a light kiss on the forehead and moved down until his face was at the level of her bump, he moved his large hand on her belly and gave it a little peck; then he started to murmur to his unborn child "Good morning my Little Bee..."

\--------------------

"...Then John runs after me and-" he felt a little kick under his hand and he chuckled, careful to not wake Molly. " Oh, it seems you like this story, don't you?". He felt another kick and Molly stirred from her side and put her hand on his to caress her belly. "...Mmhhp... Sherlock?". He lifted up his gaze to see her face. "Molly, I'm sorry I didn't want to wake you up...".

She smiled at him. "Don't worry, I am not sleeping so much these days". She looked down to her growing belly. "You know, he is quite active and he loves the sound of your voice... Like his mum!". She kissed him and caressed his cheeks. "So, Mr Holmes: how was the case?". He pursed his lips and looked down. "...Ehm... About this... I have something to tell you...".

* * *

**9th month**

**_People are fragile things, you should know by now  
Be careful what you put them through_ **

**Munich - Editors**

"Sherlock? Sherlock? Hello? Can you hear me? Sherl-"

"Mum? Mum?... Oh for God Sake! Mum! It's two in the morning and I'm in the middle of nowhere so if this isn't an em-"

"It's Molly! You stupid boy! Her waters broke!"

Molly was sitting next to Violet, and she was angry, she was really angry! That stupid man! She reached out and abruptly teared the phone away from Violet's hand.

"You ARSEHOLE! Move your stupid ass from France and come here or I swear that the next time I'll see you I will skin you alive!".

The line went dead, and Sherlock, for maybe the first time in his life, felt hopeless. In the middle of a forest, miles away from the nearest house, or road... And with Molly ready to give birth to his child... He needed to find a way out of that mess, and soon, if he wanted to be able to see his child just once before Molly would murder him. Because it was inevitable, his death, if he wouldn't be there by her side, while she was pushing out the result of one of many passionate sexual intercourses…

His phone rang again. "Brother dear…". Damn, exactly the last man he wanted to listen to... And probably the only one who could help him. "Listen, Mycroft, I don't have time to-".

"I know, little brother: your Miss Hooper-".

"Not Miss, Doctor! I'm a specialist registrar, you blithering idiot, and a damn amazing one, remember! I could kill you, and dispose of your body in ways that you, and that moron you are talking to, have not thought of yet... No, Violet, I'm not joking, I'm making a promise to your precious Mikey. So, Mr Minor position in the British government, if you treasure your life just a little bit, make Sherlock appear in this fucking room right now!".

A discreet cough, and Mycroft resumed speaking, his voice a bit shakier than before. "A helicopter is arriving to your current location in less than minutes, Sherlock…". Mycroft lowered his tone, his voice nothing more than a murmur. "And for the sake of all of us, Sherlock: don't reproduce again... I'm begging you".

A bit of commotion, and John Watson took the phone in his hand. "Sherlock, you don't need to worry... Everything is fine, Mary and I are going with Molly in the ambulance, we'll take care of her and the baby".

"I'm not worried, John!" was the consulting detective's reply, disturbed by the wind raised by the helicopter.

"You can tell the truth to me, mate... I'm your best friend, remember! Oh, the ambulance is here! We will see you at St. Bart's in a few hours, I hope! Sherlock, one last thing…".

"What, John, what!?". Sherlock shouted, while climbing on the helicopter.

"In the case you won't make it to the hospital in time... It's been great, a real honor knowing you, and being your friend!".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Irene's speaking... So, for the songs chosen for every month, if it's an 80's or 90's classic, you have the old Irene to blame... This chapter is surely lighter, we thought we had made those two suffer enough during this story, and they surely deserve some laughs and fluff! So, as Flavia said, one more chapter and then the epilogue... I think I can speak for Flavia too, when I say that I will feel both happy and a bit melancholic when this journey will be over, and we have to thank all of you readers for that! You've been so amazingly supportive, both here and on Tumblr, thank you so much!


	14. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer, my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, this is Irene speaking. I wrote most of this chapter, so if you don't like this mixture of fluffiness and humour that I've managed to conceive, please send your complaints to me, and me only; on the contrary, if you feel, like me, that these two deserve some happiness, feel free to express it in a lovely review...Please! Anyway, it's almost (key word: almost) the end of our sweet, dysfunctional family, and therefore for our story; the writers here are experiencing a bittersweet sensation at the thought that it will soon be completed, and want once again to thank all of you, wonderful readers - you're really amazing, and special. Thank you soooo much!

_**You are true honeymoon child** _   
_**Conceived on an island in the sun** _   
_**Heals dug in the white sand** _   
_**Loved and adored from day one** _

_**Raised in a wild space** _   
_**Between two hearts** _   
_**With the vines climb trees towards the light** _   
_**Running naked, dragging a kite** _   
_**Or your dress on a string** _

**Honeymoon Child - Emiliana Torrini**

* * *

"Where is she? Am I too late? Is she already inside?". His questions were delivered while frantically running towards John and Greg, who was sitting on the most uncomfortable seats they had ever tried.

"I'm sorry, mate... I hoped you could be here sooner, but, you know, she couldn't wait for you anymore...They entered the operating room just ten minutes ago...".

Sherlock shuddered. "Oh my god... I'm a dead man... Wait a minute, they? As in Molly and my child, you mean? Or did she enter with someone else? Mary? Or Mummy... Yes, she would probably prefer the company of a woman in a moment like this...".

John grimaced before answering. "I think it's better for you to sit down, Sherlock". "Why? Is there something wrong with Molly, or the baby?" was the consulting detective's worried reply. "No, everything is fine with them, but...". "But what, John? Tell me! I'm the father, and the woman I love is inside an operating room without me, I deserve to know what's wrong!".

"Well, I don't know how to tell you...".

"John, I want to know, NOW!".

"Well, Molly didn't want neither Mary nor your mother to enter with her... She chose Mycroft".

The color left Sherlock's face, and suddenly his hands closed into fists. "My... Mycroft? My brother is assisting my Molly... Why are you laughing?".

Both Greg and John were cackling now, and Sherlock entertained for a brief moment the idea of killing both of them. "I- I'm sorry, but we couldn't lose this opportunity... Your face...".

"Very funny... I will deal with you buffoons later... Now just tell me where Molly is!".

Greg put his hand on Sherlock's back and guided him in the right direction, then stopped on a hallway. "She is in a private room down the hall, you can recognize it from the agent in disguise outside the door, and mate-".

"What?!"

"Calm down old boy! And please be careful, she has just entered in her sixth hour of labor."

Sherlock stopped suddenly his march in the hallway and turned to John.

"Is it everything alright? Please tell me that I have nothing to worry about"

John smirked awkwardly at him and put his hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards Molly's room.

"Don't worry, everything is fine, but please when you will be in that room be careful and please, for your sake, don't move, don't speak, don't breathe unless she asks to do!"

"John please, don't be ridiculous!"

Greg appeared on Sherlock's left side, and put his hand on the handle.

"I never thought of having to say this word to you, but well... Here we are, " the DI patted him hard on the shoulder. "You are going to be a father Sherlock, remember this is a child and - God save us- your son! Just remember to abstain from being the little shit you always are, and don't mess it up too badly, ok?"

Greg opened the door, then grinned at him and pushed Sherlock inside, whispering a "Good luck!".

Sherlock turned to him to reply, but the door was abruptly closed just an inch away from his nose.

* * *

"Oh, brother dear... You're finally arrived!". Mycroft's tone would have sounded completely fine, even friendly, to a stranger, or to someone less adept at the science of deduction; thankfully (or not), Sherlock was neither. His gaze fell almost immediately to his brother's hand, whose fingers showed being crushed forcefully at least twice; subsequently he looked at Molly, resting on the bed, her eyes opened and fixed unfathomable on him.

The consulting detective made an attempt at smiling, but he stopped when Molly's sudden glare.

"Well, I reckon it's time for me to leave you two alone... Doctor Hooper", the voice of the man who was in charge of an entire nation stressed her title with newly-found deference, "It's been a real pleasure spending these unforgettable moments with you". Sherlock was shocked to hear no sarcasm in his tone.

"It seems I have to conclude what you left half-finished... Again". With a curt nod to his brother Mycroft walked out, leaving the couple finally alone.

"Molly, I-".

The pathologist raised a hand to stop him. "If you're trying to apologise, please stop right now".

Her reaction didn't seem to stop Sherlock. " But I want to-".

"There's no need to, Sherlock. A part of me has always known that there was a solid probability that you would miss this moment. I took into account a long time ago, that we would not do things the way the other couples do". She didn't sound sad, or resigned; it was her matter-of-fact tone.

"What I'm trying to say is that I know who you are, Sherlock, and I don't want you to apologise for being yourself. I wouldn't love you if you were different, and... Ah!".

Sherlock rushed to her bedside, his large hands encasing her right one. "A contraction, I presume…".

"No shit, Sherlock! Of all times, you decide it's a good time now to be a sarcastic git?!".

He let out a chuckle, silently admiring her nerve. He waited for the pain to attenuate, and tried to free his hand from her strong grip, in vain. "Molly, I want to say something, despite my fear that it would sound hideously saccharine and sentimental, and probably dull, but right now my flawless mind is failing me, and-".

"Would you please just spit it out before the next contraction, please?".

"You're so beautiful, Molly Hooper…" he breathed out, and Molly snickered at him. "Did John or Greg tell you to say that?".

"Greg? Oh, you mean Lestrade... No, they didn't! I really think that you are beautiful, trust me!". His voice carried all his indignation at her disbelief.

"Really, Sherlock, look at me! I didn't wash or even brush my hair today, and I threw up earlier, so I probably still smell like a garbage bin…".

"And you're going to give me the greatest gift I could ever receive... Is there anything more charming?".

Her gaze softened, and she let out an adoring "Oh, Sherlock…", that quickly changed into a pained "Fuck, Sherlock!".

The pressure on his fingers was almost unbearable, but the consulting detective, the man who had defeated Death on multiple occasions, deemed more sensible to suffer in silence than to exasperate his pathologist farther. When his breathing returned normal, he asked "Do you need me to call a nurse?", without adding his subsequent thought "Or maybe an exorcist to help you rid of that demon who's giving you this superhuman strength?".

"No, the contractions are six minutes apart, I'm counting them. They told me to call when they are four minutes apart... And I'm warning you, they are going to much stronger and painful, so prepare yourself, because I'm afraid I will squeeze your hand very hard!".

"Oh, you know that pain doesn't bother me... Do you need anything? Water, Ice, or maybe torturing Mycroft a bit more?".

Molly shrugged. "He deserves it".

"Oh, I'm sure he does," Sherlock smirked playfully.

Her tone changed suddenly, becoming tense. "Sherlock, there's still a lot to do at home- the nursery is not finished, and we still haven't decided a name for the baby! And your mother... I should apologise to her, I say some things about Mycroft, and you, in front of her, that I'm ashamed to repeat right now! And she had been so sweet to me…".

Her emotional outburst had the benefit to let him free his hands, and he took advantage of it by brushing his fingers over her wet cheekbones. "Molly, stop. Take a deep breath, for me, ok? You don't need to worry about a thing. The nursery is fine, we still have time to choose a name for our son, and I'm sure my mother shares with you some of your opinion about her own son...I'm here now, and I'm going to stay by your side".

"Always?".

"Always".

* * *

**Four hours later**

When finally the nurses allowed him to enter Molly's room, the first thought that assaulted his synapses, was that he was in front of a masterpiece. A mother and her child, together, starting to form a bond that would last all their lifetime

His mind went back to a Monday morning spent in Florence - he wasn't supposed to spend his time in the Uffizi Gallery, while Moriarty's web was still a menace; but he was tired, and bored and after all one of the museum's janitors owed him a favor...

Wandering through the deserted halls, one painting in particular stole his attention. Its name was "Madonna of the roses", by Titian, and at a first look it seemed nothing more than the usual rendition of the Virgin Mary cuddling her little child; but in the warmth of the woman's eyes, in her pale complexion, he found something strangely familiar, and he hadn't been able to put a finger on it, until the very moment his gaze fell on Molly cooing over their child. That sense of intimacy, of tenderness, of pure adoration transpiring from her eyes while she was rocking the newborn baby in her arms, made him almost lose his breath.

He had always thought that bringing a child into this world was nothing more than an act of utter selfishness; a vain attempt to reach immortality, by perpetuating our genetic makeup into the future. But right in that moment, Sherlock's mind was void of any thought about himself; the narcissist, self-centered attitude he was famous for, was annihilated by the certainty he would sacrifice his own life just to protect the woman he loved, and their son.

He approached the bed slowly, committing to his memory the image before his eyes. It was one of those rare occasions that managed to reset his ability to communicate like a human being.

"..."

"Sherlock ?"

"..."

"Sherlock ? Are you alright ?"

"..."

"I think your dad is processing the fact that you're finally here with us...", Molly whispered softly to the baby squirming in her arms, and magically Sherlock's voice came back.

"He's... He's...Oh, Molly, I can't even begin to describe him…".

"He's ours, Sherlock. He's simply our baby. And I know that it will annoy you, me being so banal and trivial, but he's a little bit of me combined with a little bit of you, and he's perfect. I would not want him any other way".

Sherlock heard the little commotion caused by the others outside the room, diligently waiting for the signal that it was okay for them to enter the room. He locked his gaze with Molly's and waited for her approval. Her nod was imperceptible, and carefully she put the baby in his arms.

Finally he turned, the infant already on the verge of sleep. The men and women he had learnt to call a family, his and Molly's little tribe, waited with trepidation for a word, a sign. The consulting detective simply smirked, and carefully everyone came in, as composed as their emotions allowed them to be. And finally, he introduced his son.

"Everyone...Meet Charles Hamish Hooper-Holmes. Charles... this is your family".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Halfway down I slipped, but by the blessing of God I landed, torn and bleeding, upon the path. I took to my heels, did ten miles over the mountains in the darkness, and a week later I found myself in Florence with the certainty that no one in the world knew what had become of me". - The Adventure of the Empty House - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
> 
> (Flavia's here) And that's why there's a Florence reference in this chapter! It was inspired by one of my memories of the Uffizi Gallery when I was lucky to see it on a Monday morning when it was closed to the tourists; I love that city, and I'm lucky enough to spend a lot of time there.


	15. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer, my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we are at the end of, like Molly said, "our silly, sad, love story" - and I'm still trying not to cry over this news. This story has become progressively more and more important to me, for many reasons; mostly because this is my very first story written in a language that was not my native language (once again, I'm sorry for the mistakes and the typos). I'm a very insecure person, who tends to hide everything I create, because every time I do something I always need the approval of someone I trust. I know that sometimes I can be very annoying with my insecurities, and my stupid fear to "do something wrong", this is why I want to thank Irene for her patience and for trusting me and helping me to build this story. Thank you for every comment, kudos and for reading this story until the end, I want to hug and kiss everyone of you! Thank you so, so much! Flavia
> 
> P.s. : The fairy tale was tested successfully on my 7 years old cousin. No 7 years old cousins was harmed during that test. Flavia

_**And all the roads we have to walk are winding** _  
_**And all the lights that lead us there are blinding** _  
_**There are many things that I would** _  
_**Like to say to you** _  
_**But I don't know how** _

_**Because maybe** _  
_**You're gonna be the one that saves me** _  
_**And after all** _  
_**You're my wonderwall** _

" **Wonderwall"- Oasis**

* * *

**Four Months later**

It was 2 am. Sherlock appeared on the threshold of their bedroom, exhausted but still careful to not make any sound with his bare feet; his dressing gown was hanging down from his right shoulder, and his curls disheveled in every direction. He slowly closed the door and put the baby monitor on his bedside table, before diving face-down on the bed, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I hope he will sleep at least three hours in a row this time".

Molly giggled and ruffled his curls."Thank you, but, you know, I can manage this..."

He moved to his side and turned to face her. "You already did it last night and you need some rest... So, don't worry, it's fine for me..."

She smiled at him and caressed his cheek."Would you have ever believed it?"

He kissed her palm and breathed his answer against it. "What?"

"You, being a father...The great Sherlock Holmes, Mr caring-is-not-an-advantage...".

He came closer to her, taking her hand in his and lacing his fingers with hers. He looked down, admiring their entwined hands. "If someone had told me, eleven years ago, that you would become not only my friend but also my girlfriend, that I would have almost died for you and that we even would have had a child together... Surely I would have sent him to piss o- ouch!".

She hit him playfully on the shoulder. "Sherlock!" He smirked and looked up at her "No. Sorry, wrong choice of words". He came even closer to her and brushed away a strand of hair from her face. "Molly... The truth is that I can't even imagine my life without you. I'm grateful to have met you that day, 11 years ago. To have finally seen you, 7 years ago. To have you loving me, now." He caressed her lower lip. " I would never have imagined that someone could love me..."

Molly took his face between her hands. "You are loved Sherlock, you will always be loved. Your family, your friends love you...".

"Molly, this is only thanks to you. You helped me to become human." He kissed her and positioned her on her back. "You gave me a home and a family, a reason to stay alive and I love you so much".

Molly started to giggle and Sherlock furrowed his brow. "Sherlock, sorry. I am sorry. I was just thinking of what would be John's face if he could hear you right now..."

He lifted up on his elbows and looked her straight in her eyes. "Wha- Really? I'm just trying to make love to you and you're thinking of my best friend?"

Molly burst into a laugh and Sherlock silenced it with a kiss, then stopped and murmured on her lips " Molly, be quiet... You don't want to wake up Charles, do you?"

Molly bit her lower lip and smiled playfully at him. "Sorry... But I'm sure that you are the noisy one...". Her hands began to tickle his waist and Sherlock jumped, landing on his side while Molly continued to tease his waist. "Ah Moll-stop! Ahahah- please...". He rolled onto his back and captured her wrists in his hands. "Molly, seriously, stop!"

She giggled, climbed on top of him and kissed him "I love you, Mr Holmes."

He kissed her back. "I love you too, Dr Hooper."

* * *

**Three years later**

Charles was sitting in front of the fireplace, his chubby face barely covered by his curly blonde hair and his unusual eyes (one deep brown and the other light blue) fixed on the old skull placed between his legs.

"I don't know what to do Billy". The little kid sighed dramatically, his tiny pointer finger following the cracks on the skull. "Mummy is always in bed, because she needs the rest, Daddy says…". Another heavy sigh. "That little baby inside her tummy is sucking in all her energy... She's evil, Billy, I'm sure. Who knows what she will do to me, to us, when she will be free from her prison in Mummy's tummy!".

A lone tear fell on Billy's polished cranium. "Maybe they will understand that she's an evil monster, and send her away... But what if they don't? What if they prefer her to me?".

"Charles, what did I tell you about Billy?". His father's stern voice interrupted the boy's confessions, and the boy sprang to hide behind Sherlock's armchair.

"I- I felt alone, Daddy…". Charles said. "Mummy's sleeping... Again", he added with a bored murmur.

"She needs to rest, I've already told you, Charles…". Sherlock approached the boy's shelter, kneeling down to his height. "But now I'm here, and you don't need my skull to keep you company anymore".

Charles looked up at his Dad and chewed on his lower lip "Dad, can I ask you something?"

Sherlock came closer to his kid and sat down in his armchair, before putting him on his lap. "Of course son, nothing awful, I hope..."

Charles snuggled in his lap and buried his face on his father's shoulder. "Can you send her away?".

"Her? Who are you talking about, Charlie?".

"The sister! I don't want her to come here, and steal you and Mommy from me!". Charles started to sob, inconsolable, and Sherlock had to restrain himself in order to avoid laughing in his son's face. He chose to cuddle him a bit more, and waited for his cry to subside, before starting to speak again.

"Charles, do you really believe that your sister would do something so cruel like stealing your parents away from you? Neither your mum nor I would allow anyone to take us away from you...It will never happen".

"Never?". The little boy started to dry his tears with his cardigan's leaves, still pouting.

"Never. And I'm going to tell you a secret… But you don't have to tell your mum, do you understand?".

"It's a secret, dad... Of course I'm not going to tell anyone else! It's ovv- No, it's obius!" Charles ended, a proud smile on his face.

"Yes, you have to excuse your silly old father for asking something so clear. Well, this is the secret, young man: there's a good chance that you're going to receive that chemistry kit I caught you ogling the other day, when your granny took you at the toy shop".

"Really, dad? That one that Mum kept saying I'm too young to use?".

"Trust a graduated chemist, son: it's never too soon to start experimenting. But you will receive that chemistry kit at one condition". Sherlock's voice grew serious, and in return his son's expression turned sober too.

"You have to promise me that you're going to love your sister as much as you love your mother and me. I can assure you that she will love you equally, for the rest of your life. Do you think you can vow to do that, Charles Hamish Hooper-Holmes?".

The boy seemed to ponder it for a second, and Sherlock worries started to grow. He remembered his own mother's horrifying tale of that time when Mycroft had put him, a tiny and helpless six months old baby, in a basket and tried to place him in a stream not very far from their home. Thankfully, their dad had managed to prevent the fratricide, and Mycroft's excuse at being caught ("Well, it worked for Moses...May be he could find a Pharaon's family, too, instead of annoying me with his cries and poo!") had been hidden in his Mind Palace for a long time...until now.

"Well, Dad… I think I can do that. I promise to love my little sister as much as I love Mommy and you!".

Sherlock hugged his son, finally more relaxed. "Very well… Now, I think I heard your Nana opening the oven… Do you smell cookies too?".

"Yes!" Charles said, and he sprinted downstairs. Sherlock stood up and opened slightly the bedroom's door. Inside, Molly was still sleeping soundly. Satisfied at himself for his handling of what could have been a difficult family crisis, he closed the door and joined his son and his landlady downstairs.

* * *

**A month later**

"Are they here yet?". Charles sleepy voice woke up John Watson, who was currently dozing off on his old flat's sofa.

"No, Charles… Why don't you have a nap? I promise I will wake you up as soon as I hear them downstairs."

"Uncle John… I'm not tired", Charles yawned back, snuggling on his left side. "Also, I don't trust you staying awake, I saw you had your eyes closed two minutes ago".

Mary, followed by her daughter Elizabeth, decided to take a look out of the window, and smiled at the grumpy couple sprawled on the sofa.

"I don't think you have to wait much more, Charlie… Your mum and dad are here!".

Outside, a sleek sedan, followed by an even more shiny Jaguar, parked with precise maneuvers. A driver opened the passenger's door, and a tired-looking but smiling Molly Hooper get out of the car; just a minute later Sherlock Holmes appeared, carrying a child seat with him.

As soon as the door was opened, Molly found her hyperactive son on the threshold, already hugging her legs. "Oh, Mommy, I missed you so much!".

Molly smiled, before taking Charles in her arms and leaving a big kiss on his cheek. "And I missed you too, my little bumble bee!".

Behind them, Sherlock coughed to draw their attention. "I think it would be better for us to move this sweet reunion upstairs... Unless you're planning to leave my parents and my dear brother outside. Oh, wait a minute… It's not a bad idea, isn't it?".

Both Molly and Mrs Hudson, who had reached them, gave him a scolding look. "Fine, let's just go upstairs…".

Half an hour later, an impromptu family party was taking place at Baker Street. Just the usual suspects (the Watsons, Sherlock's parents and brother, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Mike Stamford), joined the Hooper-Holmes while they showed everyone, quite proudly, the latest addiction to the family.

"Marie Miranda Hooper- Holmes… Quite the tongue-twister, don't you think?", Lestrade asked John, while drinking a cup of tea.

"Yes… But with Sherlock as a father, I think she has been quite lucky. It could have been much worse...", Mike joined the conversation.

"Well, after all I can't name all my children after you, John Hamish Watson…", Sherlock interjected, her daughter hoisted on his shoulder. His reply was the cue for the infant to finally burp. "See? Even my daughter agrees…"

On the sofa, Mycroft was keeping company to the firstborn. "So, little Hamish, what are your impressions of your sister?".

Charles frowned at his uncle's choice of name, then shrugged. "She's quite wrinkled… Even more than Mrs Hudson. And she smells funny, too. Aside from that, I think she's ok… For now".

Mycroft nodded somberly. "You're going to behave yourself, I hope… No pranks, no tantrum. As an older brother, you have now a mission of the uttermost importance, a lifetime commitment to devote yourself to. You know what I'm talking about, don't you?".

"Yes, Uncle Mycroft, I remember what you told me the last time we met. The older brother must protect the youngest siblings, at all costs".

Mycroft smiled at his nephew, satisfied. " Very good, Hamish".

"Uncle Mycroft, my name is Charles!". The older Holmes brother held out against the temptation to ruffle his indignant nephew, and the shadow of a smirk appeared on his thin lips.

"I think it would be better for you to apologise to Charles right now, Mycroft…", Molly admonished the man who controlled the entire country. "You know that the longer he pouts, the harder it will be for his maxillary bones to return normal…". Molly sat down next to her son, admiring her significant other showing proudly their newborn daughter to their circle of close friends. A lonely tear fell down, and she quickly brushed it with the back of her hand.

"Is anything wrong, Molly?". Mycroft's concerned tone sounded strange to her ears, but a quick glance to the other Holmes reassured her that he was really worried.

"No, Mycroft, but thank you for your concern. Nothing is wrong... Everything is quite perfect right now, trust me. Truly perfect... Finally."

* * *

**One and a half year later**

Molly was lying in their bed, with their beautiful children sleeping between her and Sherlock. Her hand was holding their daughter's hand while Sherlock embraced their son, who was sprawled on his chest. Molly's gaze was fixed on Sherlock's sleeping face: this was one of these nights when she loved getting lost in her memories.

She remembered their first nights together at Baker Street, when she always woke up before him, fearing that their nights together were just a dream. She remembered how she liked to stare at his sleeping face, to memorize the curves of his parted lips, and his long dark eyelashes resting on his alabaster cheekbones. He always seemed much younger when he slept, as if all the worries of life disappeared as soon as he closed his eyes.

She recalled a few hours before, when she had closed herself in the bathroom, for the fourth time in her life a pregnancy test in her hands.

_"Negative... It's negative. I'm not pregnant, Sherlock." She had whispered to him, when he had asked for her permission to enter the room. She didn't know why her voice sounded so disappointed; after all they weren't trying to have another child. The memory of the child that never was, had assaulted her mind. Sometimes she surprised herself thinking how old he or she would be, what kind of brother or sister would be for Charles and Marie. It was silly, and useless, Molly knew it; but she couldn't stop and imagine herself as the mother of three beautiful and intelligent children._

_"Are you sad because you are not pregnant? You didn't tell me that you wanted another child". Sherlock kneeled down to be at her level, seen that she was sitting on the closed toilet._

_"I don't know… I wouldn't be opposed to the idea, I think"._

_"So... Do you want to try and have another?"._

_"Sherlock, I… I don't really know. I'm afraid that another child could disrupt the equilibrium we have reached. Everything is so perfect right now, and I don't want to ruin this perfection"_

_"Molly, our family isn't perfect. We are bound to be imperfect. We are just human beings, and maybe our children will be the best part of us, or maybe not. Maybe our life, the road we are walking on, our errors, our right choices, everything we have done it's just a dream. The truth is, I don't want perfection. I don't need it. Everything I want, is you, and our children. Two, or three, or five, it doesn't matter... As long as you are with me"._

_Molly threw away the pregnancy test, and quickly washed her hands, before hugging Sherlock tightly. "I'm going to say something very sappy, and ridiculously sentimental, Mr Holmes. May I?"_

_"Permission to be sentimental denied, Doctor Hooper. You're talking too much, and to quote Shakespeare, I will stop your mouth", he murmured, before kissing her._

* * *

**The next day**

Charles and Marie were very fond of "Diana Memorial Playground" at the Kensington Gardens. Molly loved it too, probably for a different set of reasons: while she appreciated the provision of loos, nappy-changing facilities and the lovely café, (and most of all, the fact that unaccompanied adults weren't allowed), her children, brainwashed by years of their father's tales about pirates and buccaneers, absolutely loved the vast wooden pirate ship sailing a sea of sand.

She was sitting on a bench with Mary by her side, watching their significant others playing with their children, when the pathologist felt compelled to open up with the former spy.

"Sherlock and I talked about having another child, yesterday". Her confession seemed to please Mrs Watson, and Molly found herself engulfed by a massive hug.

"Oh, I'm so happy to hear it! So happy, for both of you!"

"Mary, please calm down! We just broached the subject, we haven't decided anything yet. There's always the possibility that I won't get pregnant. I'm not getting any younger, you know."

Mary pulled back, and nodded. "I understand… And even in the case it won't work out the way you want, you have already a beautiful family. Would you have imagined it, ten years ago, that you would have been here, in a park, watching the love of your life playing tag with your children?"

Molly could hear Marie's giggles, and Charles shouting playful threats to his father, who was tickling both of them. "I read a sentence, a long time ago... Or I heard it in a song, I don't remember. Anyway, it said "True happiness can not be found so easily ". And now I understand it. After all the pain, the suffering, I've endured - we have endured- I wouldn't change a minute of our lives, because now I know that every tear, every heartache, had brought me what I have now. I have two beautiful and clever children, and a genius man-child who can't avoid to insult our son's teachers or to annoy his own brother like a five years old, but who would sacrifice his own life to protect his family and his friends. I wouldn't change a thing of our past, even the most painful events, because now I know that all those tribulations gave me the life I have now. And it's really a happy life, Mary."

Molly paused, beaming at the sight before her eyes: Sherlock picking up their daughter from the sand and putting her on his shoulders, while Charles was running to her. "Mum, Dad is buying us ice-cream!"

"Oh, Sherlock! They are already so hyper, do you really think that they need more sugar in their organism right now?".

John reached them, his daughter just behind him. "Who is talking about ice-cream? Because I think that it's quite a wonderful idea!"

Mary put an arm around Molly's shoulder. "And you're thinking about having another child… Why, when you already have two kids and a Sherlock causing havoc?"

"Well, it seems I can't get enough of it...", Molly replied, before leaving the bench and reaching Sherlock and their children.

* * *

**Later that night**

Sherlock entered their bedroom and quickly locked the door, took off his shirt and jumped under the covers, suddenly flipping Molly on her back. "Sherlock! What?!"

"Shh... We have only half an hour before Marie wakes up and begs us to let her sleep in our bed!"

"Door?"

"Locked."

"Good." Sherlock pulled up her nightshirt and started to cover her breasts with light bites and kisses. "...Sherlock...".

He suddenly stopped and lifted his mischievous gaze to her. "Shh... Molly, be quiet..."

She covered her mouth with her hand, and started to giggle. "Sorry, sorry... I'll be quiet, I swear!" Sherlock moved on top of her and murmured upon her ear, " We don't want a repeat of what happened last month, do we?"

Molly blushed and started to laugh nervously, hiding her face on his shoulder. "Oh my... I forgot, poor John!". Sherlock hugged her tightly and moved on his back, after kissing her cheek. "Well... We can't blame him, after all it was our first time without the children...". He cupped her smiling face and murmured with his deep velvet voice, "And you have no idea how much I love to hear your moans, Dr Hooper...". She stopped his confession with a kiss, breathing her answer against his lips. "And you have no idea how much I love to hear you say my name over and over and over Mr Holmes...". She kissed him again and guided his large hands to her backside, while rolling her hips over his groin. "Molly..." She caressed his chest "Please be quiet, Mr Holmes!".

Suddenly he gripped her waist and flipped her on her back. "Oh, you little minx!". Molly tried to muffle her laugh against his chest and Sherlock kissed her again. "Maybe I will punish you..." He gave a little peck on her lips. "My, my Molly...".

She caressed his cheek, beaming at him. "My...my silly old boy... You have a job to do, am I wrong?". He grinned back at her. "Sorry, Doctor Hooper, I will get back to work right now." He kissed his way down and started to pull down her pants... Then it was a soft knock on the door.

Sherlock sighed and dropped his head on her stomach. "Too late", Molly giggled and caressed his curls; the knocks became more insistent, and it was followed by a tiny voice asking "Daddy? Why is the door locked?".

Sherlock stood up and started to hunt for his shirt under Molly's smiling gaze." Hurry up Daddy! Someone requires you! ". He gave her his best scowling gaze and reached the door. "Sorry Marie, I'll be there in a minute". Finally Sherlock opened the door and he was welcomed by his daughter's suspicious glare. "Why was the door locked? And what have you been doing to Mom?".

Sherlock blushed. "I... ehm... I just kissed your mom, nothing else." The little version of Molly with short disheveled red hair lifted up her gaze to him, still absolutely not convinced. "Are you sure? I heard weird sounds."

Molly decided to rescue her boyfriend, she went to Marie and picked her up. "Mommy!"

"See my little woman? I am fine, you have nothing to worry about."

"Then why I heard that sounds?" Molly gave a peck on her cheek and stroked her curls."Because your Daddy is a very silly old man and he was tickling me."

Marie turned to her dad. "Is it true?" Sherlock put his hands on his heart, "I swear, hand on heart".

Marie glared at both her parents, not completely persuaded that they were telling the truth. She let Molly put her on the bed, and promptly stretched herself out in the middle of the mattress, like it was her designated place.

"Well... Why aren't you tickling Mommy anymore?", she asked, as her presence was absolutely not an obstacle to their previous action. Molly had the good grace to blush, and Sherlock bit his tongue.

"Because I think I've found a better victim!" he announced, before starting to tickle his daughter. Marie's shrill laughters began a second later, and just five minutes passed before Charles appeared on the bedroom's threshold, pouting.

"Would you please behave? There's someone who's going to school tomorrow, and needs to sleep!".

This time it was Molly who left the bed and grabbed her son by his waist, her nimble fingers finding easily his weak points.

"Mom! Stop it, Mom, I'm not a kid anymore!". Charles' indignant cries soon turned into giggles, and it went on like that for ten minutes, until the kids declared their defeat and their parents started to feel the exhaustion assault them.

Molly was sitting with her back on the headboard, her daughter on her lap and his son beside her. "Well children, it is time to sleep, don't you think?"

Marie rubbed her eyes with her fists "Mom, I don't want to sleep..." Her brother peered her over their mother's shoulder. "If you don't sleep the monsters under the bed will drag you by your fe-" Marie opened wide his worried eyes.

"Charles!" He was suddenly stopped by the concerned voices coming from both his parents, who looked at him with angry faces.

Charles grinned awkwardly at them, before turning to his sister. "Bu-but I swear that I'll protect you from them!" Charles turned to his dad whispering "Is it good?"

Sherlock gave him a wink and put him on his lap. "Well, Charles: what do you think of being a good example for Marie and go to sleep?"

Charles furrowed his brow "I don't know, I don't feel tired anymore...". Sherlock turned his gaze to Molly, who was lulling Marie to sleep. "So… What do you think if I tell you a story?" Marie awoke suddenly raising her hands to his father. "Yes Daddy! I want a love story with a princess! But not the boring one".

Charles put his best bored face and rolled his eyes, "Not again Marie!".

She pointed her chubby index finger to his brother. "My Princesses are strong! They kill the dragons and save the princes!".

"Fine, fine, but can I put a pirate somewhere?". Molly tried to not giggle and looked at Sherlock, who was smiling back at her. "I have a better idea, what do you think of this story?"

_Once upon a time there was a pirate, but he wasn't an ordinary pirate with the rum, the brawls and everything else. He was a very weird one, because he didn't behave like one of them. Well, he loved the adventure, of course, but he loved much more reading the people, discovering their secrets and reading their soul and their hearts, maybe because he didn't have one or, at least, he always thought that he didn't have it and therefore, that a heart was absolutely unnecessary. But the truth is that he did have one: his heart was a little furry thing hidden deep in his skinny raggedy body._

_Sometimes, his poor furry heart tried to make him feel its presence, making some weak beats that were quickly suffocated by the pirate, because he was a very silly man: always so proud of himself, of his immense genius, that he was convinced that he didn't need the sentiments, he didn't need an heart, and that's why he was always alone._

_He was a silly, skinny, lonely man with a large ship with many things inside, but no one to share them... Until one day he met an old soldier, left alone by his comrades after the war, and looking for someone to share the adventures and to forget his past._

_The pirate and the old soldier soon became friends and the pirate's little furry heart began to lose a bit of fur and to beat a little more. One day the two friends arrived on an island, ruled by a proud warrior princess. The first thing she did, as soon as they arrived, was to put them in jail: they were pirates after all, and she wanted to protect her realm. This was the right thing to do, so she sent his soldiers to capture them._

_The pirate's pride was so wounded by being captured, that he asked to meet the princess. When they told him no, he started to reveal all the dirty little secrets of the princess's soldiers so they choose to send him to the princess, only to shut his annoying mouth. The pirate was a genius, yes, but he was also a very silly man because the first thing he did as soon as he saw the princess, was to laugh in her face._

_He was expecting a big strong old woman, but what he saw was a small young woman, more similar to an elf that to a human._

_The silly Pirate thought she was some sort of joke and started to laugh. "Very funny" shouted the Pirate to the soldiers "Someone of you stupid men, can bring me to the presence of the real princess?"._

_The princess turned her brave gaze to him. "I am the real princess, you stupid man!"_

_The pirate stopped his laugh and lifted up his gaze to the short woman "How dare you? I am the most brilliant man of this world and the others! I discovered the enigma of the seven seas! I defeated the pirate Blackbeard only with the strength of my brain! I-"._

_The princess abruptly stopped him. "I know all of you, you stupid man. I expected to see a genius, really." She came close to him "But the only thing I see is a lonely, silly, sad man who forgot that he had a heart."_

_He grinned at her. "I don't have a heart! I don't need it!"._

_The princess laughed at him. "Oh you silly pirate! You have one, I can see it! This is why I want to make a deal to you"._

" _What deal, princess?"_

_"The deal is that you and your friend will stay with me as my guests in this island for a year and a half. You are a master at reading people and your friend is a brave man and I need your help: there is a cruel sorcerer who for years has tried to conquer and destroy my reign. He is heartless and a genius, like you and he is building an army to destroy me. I need your help to defeat him and exile him forever; only then I will let you free."_

_The pirate seems intrigued by the puzzle she had offered, so he bowed down to the princess. "I accept the deal."_

_For a year and a half the pirate, the soldier and the princess worked together to destroy the sorcerer's army, which was hidden everywhere throughout the realm. The months passed and the pirate seems more and more fascinated by the princess. She was a tiny woman with an unsuspecting strength, a brilliant mind and, more importantly, a very big gentle heart. This is why the Pirate's little furry heart started to grow, and lost another bit of fur every time the silly Pirate was close to her._

_This is why the silly Pirate was angry at her, and why every time he was close to her he always tried to throw her down, offending and mortifying her: simply because that fool wanted in every way to prevent himself from falling in love with her._

_One year and half had passed, their mission was complete and the pirate and the soldier were escorted to the ship that would make them free at last. Unfortunately, they had underestimated the power of the vindictive sorcerer, who was so angry that he decided to take his revenge on the pirate. So, during their last day on the island, the sorcerer turned himself into a wasp and stung the silly Pirate with a magic potion that made him fall asleep for two years. But the sorcerer was stupid because with his revenge, he lost all the powers and returned to be a miserable, poor human being: so he ran away and hid in a forest, waiting that would return all the powers._

_The princess took care of the pirate for two years, trying in every way to wake him. You know, she had tried all their ways: tickling, cold water in the face, the magic, every type of potion imaginable; even a kiss. Nothing worked. The soldier and the princess, tired of waiting, tried one last time. Still nothing._

_The princess was so angry and tired that she yelled at him and started to cry. "Why you won't wake up, you stupid man!"; then she slapped him three times under the shocked gaze of the soldier. "Princess! Stop! Why did you do it?"_

_"Because I'm angry, I am tired and I love him... And I couldn't tell him before..."_

_At that moment they heard a groan coming from the pirate, and both turned on him._

_"Do you love me? Really?". The princess started to cry tears of joy. "You are awake!"_

_The silly pirate rubbed his offended cheek. "Yes, and you hurt me! You have an unsuspecting strength, do you know that?". "Yes, I know, and I will have no problem to use it on you, again." He hugged her tightly to his chest. "I know, but not today. Because today, my dear Princess, I've discovered to have a heart, finally..." and the Princess could hear it beating, finally free._

_"I told you, you stupid man, that you had a heart!" The pirate sighed in relief and put his and her hands on his heart, amazed to hear the beating organ. "I just needed someone helping me to find it, and finally I found you."_

_The silly pirate kneeled in front of the princess and took her hand. "Please forgive me for everything I said to you, I am just a stupid man. Thank you for staying by my side for all these years. Even in my dreams, you were there, working to save me". The pirate stood up in front of his savior and kissed her. "And I love you too, my dear Princess. You are the most amazing woman I've ever known, and I want to stay with you until the end of time."_

Sherlock stopped his tale and gave a little kiss on the foreheads of his sleeping children, before chuckling softly. "Well, good for me, I did it again!"

Molly reached his hand and squeezed it. "Goodnight, my silly Pirate."

He kissed their joined hands, resting upon his heart."Goodnight, my princess. Goodnight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it. Let me thank my dear Flavia, for her amazing talent and imagination, for seeing in my short drabbles the potential for a real story. And thanks to all of you, dear readers. Thanks for sticking with this story, for every kudos and comment, for every kind PM and comment on Tumblr. Thanks for being so amazing and loyal. Goodbye... Until the next story. Irene


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